Aphasia

Your face brightens
watching the delivery truck
navigate the tiny
labyrinth of Old San Juan.

It tries another approach,
backs down the street
out of my view. But
the dilemma continues,
reflected in the
glass doors of the cafe.

From where you sit
I suppose you see the driver
throw up his hands and
curse the horns blowing
behind him. Are they
blowing so angrily at him?

You watch the bemused
pedestrians perhaps, or a
cop who stops flirting
with the sweet brown girl
and wanders over to do his duty.

I can only see
flashes of truck headlights,
a girl's blue blouse, a
policeman waving his arm -
the event only shattered
pieces dropped into the end of a kaleidoscope.

The tables have turned:
I'm the one who must
piece the shards together,
imagine reality from
broken reflections.
I see the enormity of your
courage and close my eyes.