stranger **

Do people really want a stranger going through their things?

A moment ago I was a stranger at the next table.

She looked at him as if he were a stranger.

She turned to the one who was not a stranger.

Here, at least, was a place where he did not feel like a stranger.

He looked at her and saw a stranger, who had never been anything else.

For the first time she felt as though he was a stranger.

He left soon after for the south again with a stranger.

And after last night, she was no longer a stranger.

Around the table in the community center she had just been one more stranger.

At least now he could give the stranger a name.

Or was he a stranger in town, far from home?

Even the life of the stranger who had been brought to her door.

And he was no stranger to the use of force.

I had seen two of them before, but one was a stranger.

But then she'd seen him from inside the house, and as a near stranger.

He was a stranger to me, an old friend of someone we both knew.

Could I give a part of myself to a stranger?

I am your mother, and she is no more than a stranger to me.

He'll be certain to if I bring along a stranger.

For a moment he was a stranger, someone they did not know.

He did not want to leave them with a stranger.

One person he knew, the other was a stranger to him.

She just wanted to know who the stranger was, why he had come here.

No one could care for her, especially a man who was still such a stranger.