Heading for the Bus
Heading for the Bus
Trees along the street
whispered in the wind
after I stepped out the door.
The wife across the street waved
and ushered her young son
and younger daughter into her van.
Better to enjoy them now, I thought,
before the time is lost.
I knew the names of every car
along the street. Mine broke down.
The golden retrievers a block away
were already calling for me.
I enjoyed sharing stories with anyone
who stood in the yard that needed
their care. I stepped over cracks
in the broken and uneven sidewalk.
Each morning my stories found new life.
I lived them again. A fresh breeze
as if it was always spring,
but my bones ached after traveling
across the state, memories borne.
Two blocks away an elderly woman
was helped by her daughter to her car.
She said she saw so many things
when working as a clerk for the city
police department. She said some
people came back repeating their mistakes.
She said she just spent three days
in the hospital, but she kept her yard.
She said that she wasn’t going to give up
on life, not now. Her mower sat in the garage.
I took snippets of life but glanced at my watch—
I had a bus to catch. The bright sun welcomed
the day as traffic passed and I stood with a stranger.
morning called
so much yet
to be lived
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