bus stories

this morning i walked past the poppies on my way to the bus stop. i have been awaiting the opening of these poppies for a couple of weeks now and they have finally bloomed, standing lazily, their roots entwined with one another reaching as best they can for the sun. one poppy, which had the largest pod and had been bursting at the seams, opened only to find itself too heavy for its own stem. it lay on the sidewalk with no defense against the shoes of passersby other than its brilliant red-orange petals crying out for notice. but sometimes finery just gets trampled on.

she was sitting directly across from me. i see her occasionally in the lunchroom, always heating up a lean cuisine to have with her banana and tomato juice. this morning she was dressed in a blue trenchcoat buttoned all the way up. she probably bought it at jc penny around 1985. she probably feels it was a smart decision, buying that trenchcoat, because it has lasted 25 years. her bag was a simple cotton with the word 'love' written in rainbow lettering interjected with little hearts, also in rainbow colors. i glanced up and she was staring at me. i looked her right in the eyes and she kept staring at me. perhaps she could sense that my heart had broken a little the night before. perhaps she understood something about the complexities of misunderstanding the person you love the most and the damage of feeling misunderstood yourself. maybe she was streaming little rainbow hearts right into my dreary pupils, like slow motion splashes full of rainbow love. i looked away and then back into her eyes. her face showed the remains of many disappointments. perhaps she was in the midst of an epiphany about her own unhappiness. perhaps she was experiencing a moment of clarity about the guilt she had lived with for years. or maybe she was just looking over my shoulder out the window. it was my stop anyway.


this morning i sat next to future me. we get off at the same stop and often walk together and chit chat. i have a feeling that she views me as her past self - something in the way she acknowledges me makes me think she understands our similarity in the same way that i do. when we are together, i wonder if the cosmos is confused with the past and the future together in the present moment, or if that is what the present moment is anyway.


i sat in the back
and gazed at the swollen ring finger
of the middle-aged blonde
wondering if my finger
would swell over time
puffing out around the edges
of my diamond ring
the ring that he gave me
the ring that makes me think
of him
and how i have changed
because of him
and if my fingers swell
and puff
i will know i am still
loved
by him


his boots were so large i was tempted to put my foot next to his and gasp at the difference. instead i sipped my tea.