beaming peace like the North Star

I Confess
by
Alison Luterman

I stalked her
in the grocery store: her crown
of snowy braids held in place by a great silver clip,
her erect bearing, radiating tenderness,
watching
the way she placed yogurt and avocados in her 
basket,
beaming peace like the North Star.
I wanted to ask, "What aisle did you find
your serenity in, do you know
how to be married for fifty years or how to live 
alone,
excuse me for interrupting, but you seem to 
possess
some knowledge that makes the earth turn and 
burn on its axis—"
But we don’t request such things from strangers
nowadays. So I said, "I love your hair."