Staring

When I was young,
I used to watch people closely.
Limp with fascination,
knees locked,
mouth gaping,
I would slowly leave
self-consciousness behind
and stare.

Entranced,
I took a person in completely
without judgement or comment.
I listened to the intricacies of her crackly voice,
and watched as his eyes lit up when he laughed,
how her hands moved
to her chest when she was frightened.
I learned the body’s language.
I learned to read a face.
I learned the nuances of conversation.

But then an older sibling
would nudge me
from my trance.
“Stop staring. It’s not nice.”
I was too young to understand
that such deep study
could make a person feel
uncomfortable.

As I grew older,
I learned to glance briefly
and judge quickly
so as not to offend.
I learned the conventions
that keep us apart,
the barriers we dare not cross,
but I never forgot
my child’s fascinated heart.

By Maria Brady-Smith