It’s Not Just Another Day.
18 October, 2011 § Leave a comment
One found me at 8.03 this morning.
She had crinkly dreads laced with silver and
calluses the size of her family on
both palms: a lifetime of working in someone else’s house.
I, running late to from the shower to
the closet to the bus,
was predictably unprepared for the day ahead,
shivering in bare-sleeved autumn light.
“Isn’t it glorious outside?”
I fell into the seat next to her, bag flying,
goosebumps bearing witness to
the golden morning as the bus lurched away from the corner.
I swear, as soon as the words escaped out of my mouth,
the hand on her worn watch paused mid-tick and
we both turned in our seats,
staring out the scratched window panel
in perfectly unsynchronized unison.
Brown and green watched in open-eyed wonder
and the rumbling hum of the 52 bus
joined the sounds of fall bringing a gift to our street.
I swear, the leaves in the abandoned
playground — a tumbled pile of crunchy color and shape
passing by over our right shoulders
from one blink to another —
began laughing up at the sky along with us.
I swear, we both exhaled on the same breath,
paused, looked at the other,
(hers rising up from the belly, mine spilling out of my nose),
and then the small hand started moving again
and the ordinariness of it all resumed.