She averted her eyes, sharply turned her head
“Tell me when he stops looking at me,” she said.
A sultry August afternoon at the town’s outdoor café
the boy, seated with his parents at a table nearby,
amazed, the 12 year old stared, his eyes
stretched wide, an arrowlike aim on her profile;
finally he blinked, returned to his coke
and to parents unaware of his sudden attraction.
“He’s stopped,” I said to our Maya,
a 10 year old Venus-in-progress.
In a voice cracked like her innocence, she said,
“How old were you the first time that happened?”
What was a grandmother to say – the truth?
“I was never beautiful, never as beautiful as you.”