On a bus: the south side of
Real fear. That is what moves me
to address a stranger on the bus.
Real, not affected, not artificial,
with a forced address.
Fear. Not friendliness, not
interest, not even curiosity.
Our difference is consuming
Understanding? Impossible.
I need to hear her speak
about family, about work
I need to hear the sameness.
Sameness in our difference.
If you can believe me you know
conversation is the mask of fear.
The woman on the bus, kerchief drooping
cracked shoes tapping the floor
fears my strangeness as I fear hers—
so I ask if she lives nearby.
She mentions her dog, waiting
impatient at the door, her grandson
who forgets him for basketball.
I speak of catching buses in the rain
standing at the stop far from family.
She belongs; I am foreign
she is returning, I am setting out.
If we could rid ourselves for one
moment of assigned roles and
boundaries. The hard plastic seats
could disappear and maybe we
would forget our fear and
our strangeness.
Maybe, we could talk.
My grandparents
the children see
grey heads remember
youth forgets
love belongs to those
who know
not those who think
quietly walking
side by side
is greater passion
than all night romps
on satin sheets
of those who think
but do not know
hear what love is
but children see
grey heads remember
and youth forgets
4 comments:
of course you are a writer
as you are a thinker
compelled by caring to sharing
and for that we are enriched.
with thanks, maureen
Hey Rebecca,
I have so been thinking about starting a blog myself, then life happens and I wonder " When would I ever be able to write ?" Who knows, maybe someday! :) I am enjoying your blog! Maybe I can keep up better now with what is going on in your life. Keep blogging and I'll keep reading.
Love you,
Amy
P.S. I forgot to mention, can you believe it's been 7 years today that D & I have been married ? Time flies and yet seems to stand still, too. In some ways I feel as though it's only been a few months, but our connection with each other makes it seem as if we have known each other forever. Though I didn't have to wait quite as long as you, I do know that it is worth the waiting and you will be able to appreciate it all the more!
Amy
Rebecca!
Yay! You and I will be published in the same publication! Isn't that just rad?! :)
My "The Day Dad Died" was chosen. A very sad, methodical, yet contemplative-in-silence kind of poem.
I can't wait for the copies to be printed. Are they mailing you your copy?
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