The Time Being

Marielle Prince

You know him. He is the small man 
hanging around the periphery.
He has straight white teeth
and a smile for you 
whenever you call him over.
His skin is the color 
of your skin 
in August because he is standing 
always outside your window,
looking for work,
wanting a position like yours.
You have put in a good word;
he is dependable and always 
dresses appropriately
for the weather.
You do not hurt his chances
by letting it be known 
that you are in love with him,
these days, as sometimes you are.
When he is with you,
you hold his hand, 
which is barely bigger than yours. 
With your other hand,
you touch his face;
this is the shape of a moment.

Author Bio: 

Marielle Prince is poetry editor at The Collagist. Her recent and forthcoming publications include work in Crab Orchard ReviewFour Way ReviewIron Horse Literary ReviewNashville Review, Ninth LetterPoetry NorthweststorySouth, and Yemassee. She received an MFA from the University of Virginia and lives in Charlottesville, Virginia.