elsie (part 2)

I greet Elsie in the hallway
with a smile every day.
She says hello with an even tone
and stares ahead with a stony gaze.

Her mouth is nearly motionless,
as flat as Illinois.
Her expression has no curves or hills.
She walks with purpose and poise.

But I have seen her smile
in the lunchroom now and then.
I have seen her stone walls soften
in the presence of a friend.

I have even seen her laughing,
but just when it seems the way is clear,
I reach out to her again
and walk straight into a glass door.

A heedless, happy robin,
slammed into the ground once more.
Will I ever find the key to the house
where Elsie's smile is stored?

She speaks to me of poetry.
She hints at darkness deep.
She tells of a great dragon
in a faraway cave, asleep.

I fancy myself a mother bird
offering fat worms of hope
to dragons or children in tangled up nests
who need to know they're not alone.