walking a dozen paces ahead of their father,
who was not dressed in athletic attire as they were,
and was not tall and thin and agile as their late teen bodies;
he was more like his wife
who walked just behind him
and looked at me and waved her hand to say thank you
as she crossed through the crosswalk in front of my car.
the third sister,
the youngest one,
was dressed like her sisters,
but wore her windbreaker zipped to the neck,
and khaki hiking shorts
instead of warm-up suit pants.
they all had shopping bags,
the older girls large ones,
the father and mother smaller ones,
and the young sister’s was small enough
to nearly fit in her coat pocket.
they were from another place,
they were exploring this place, and
when they climbed the three steps from King Street
and drifted into another store,
the little sister paused,
retraced her last three steps
and pulled a camera from her pocket and looked
south on Charlotte Street and saw
flags flying from the balconies
and the bougainvillea in full bloom.