I saw a pic of me–2016–and thought 
“100% stranger” 
I didn’t connect to that face as my
own, split second, my two eyes looking at my 
two eyes, 
big grin in a place I used to be,
photo in hand like:
who the heck is she?
I know her
so well
hardly 

And I felt 
more connected 
two nights ago 
to the elderly women shuffling the 
crosswalk of the on-ramp
to the 10 West in LA; the car ahead didn’t see her
it was 11 p.m., 
slammed brakes, and she chin-lifted into headlights, stone-still,
no quiver, just strong-spine confidence like

“I  AM  walking here” 
so the car ahead idled its apology,
and I saw myself in her, and she in me, the moment she 
gathered up her life to take her 
stand
because pedestrians have

the right of way

and a woman knows a woman
somehow–even across two lives, and four
decades
She felt so familiar–statuesque–like: 
“I am NOT too old, I am 
here, and someone cradled me when I was 
new 
born, and I’ll pause on this crosswalk,
free, 
you swaddled in your car,
me unbound, unhoused, 
whatever you    think    you see: 
please respect 

respect

respect me.”

Her laser-beam telepathy: 
“Hey, Emily–two cars back–do you find more of yourself in me than in a photo of you from 2016?”

because all-of-a-flash-of-a-sudden
any
immediate 
human should jolt the hell 
of isolation
right out of our senses:
gob-
smacked,
DO YOU FEEL THAT
connection?

“Get out of your car, come talk to me,”


But she shuffled the crosswalk, 
and I followed the sedan ahead,
onto a freeway, still

I had a 
tether 

to this woman,
recognition,
at that intersection 
that was hardly
anything 
at all but a split second

Infinite

After 7 years of documentary filmmaking in Nepal, Germany, Jordan, South Africa, Hawaii, and elsewhere, E. C. Timmer earned her Masters of Film Production and Directing from Chapman University. E. C. is a director, poet, writer, and actor, and remains curious, very curious. She gravitates toward that little nexus of documentary, narrative, poetry, and art.

@e.c.timmer