Monday, February 3, 2014

because the bus is coming

Browsing back through old papers today, I found this poem~

I hate the way you have to run ahead because the bus is coming. 
Schoolbooks bouncing in your bag –
our uneven history already a burden on your back. 

There are the mornings we leave together & walk
all the way down the hill together.  Oh, the frost!  
you say,  Oh, the little lines of ice on every

leaf!  Oh, the color of the clouds!  Oh, you
are beautiful. Your face hurts me, glowing
in the cold, the clouds blooming over the misty

fields.  We stand, these mornings, a little while
together, waiting.  I am ashamed of my face, so heavy
with years,  but your eyes still look steady into mine.

And that’s a good morning.  This a bad – rushed,
sharp-edged.  Both end the same.  
You always going away & me
saying Go! Go! standing there watching you go. 

© by Emma Jay

That wasn't very long ago.  
That was so very long ago. 

1 comment:

Lisa B. said...

this is so beautiful and feels so true to me, even now at the very far edge of all of that.

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