paper people

 I saw a woman,

When I went out 

Yesterday;

I was taking a walk,

Enjoying the breeze—

When this woman,

She blew by,

Fluttering in the breeze—

Her screams lost

In the flapping of paper.

She was made of paper,

This woman,

Pale and thin;

I caught hardly a glimpse,

And she was blown away.

She looked—sad,

I think—

Or maybe scared

(She was being blown away,

After all,

Hurtling down the road

At an alarming speed—

She must have been scared.)

I wonder what it is like,

To be a paper person.

To be so pale that

Everything leaves a mark,

To be so thin that

Anything can make you fold,

To be so light that

Anything can blow you away—

It is probably

Very unpleasant.

I should not like

To fold in on myself like that;

I should not like

To bend and wilt and die

At the first hint of rain,

I should not like 

To be ecstatic-frightened at the smell of ink.

Yes, it is probably very unpleasant

To be a paper person.

I am glad

I am not one.

Poor, poor paper people.

(Art: Gust of Wind, 1886/1898, by George Hendrik Breitner)

I wonder what a paper person would do if it rained.