Roses embroidered
on the seams of her jeans
ascended vertically
from ankle to knee
then climbed her thigh
a pink so lush
I could inhale their perfume
from across the empty parking lot
a beaded barrette with a single rose
of the same strength of pink,
held her inky hair away from her face
her shirt painted with the blue of Montana sky
her shoes echoed shirt and sky
a color impossible to believe
then she so deeply hued moved
deliberate, focused, fragile
back held straight
all her concentration on each step
as if moving to a rhythm
only she could hear
of age and illness woven
desperate to reach her end
the sun glinted off
her tinkling silver bracelets
each weighted with turquoise
her gnarled ring-less fingers
clutched the chrome handle
of the women’s restroom door
in the distance the Crazy Mountains
framed us
two dark-haired women
with the same destination