A rainy day, a bus, a stranger who crosses himself at every corner...this wonderful rumination is full of surprising insights.
Sari Krosinsky received an M.A. in creative writing from the University of New Mexico. Her poems have appeared in the American Poetry Journal, Arsenic Lobster, Pebble Lake Review, Poetica, Verse Daily and others. She edits Fickle Muses
, an online journal of mythic poetry and fiction.
A bus ride with G-d
The bus kicks in with a grunt. At the corner,
tweed jacket two seats ahead crosses himself.
Next stop light, repeats. What prayers
he murmurs, I can’t see. Are you listening?
If you’re everywhere, you’re here. A pothole slams
you against my thigh, against the tendon you tore
in another story. Rain beats against the windows,
floods the gutters, and us with this aluminum box
for an ark. If you meant to assure us, why the bow,
why the crude arc of weapon like a threat across the sky?
Tweed knows how to take your promises: this offer valid
through the next intersection. Crossing the river
to the job I hate, to the boss who knows manners
like I know Latin, there’s something yet worth saving.
Back home, my lover sleeps between the cats.
Before leaving, I kissed his ear and he woke smiling.
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