Sometimes it is possible
to be too tired
to notice a perfect crescent moon
slung over the treetops
in the cornflower blue july evening sky
rising up from the windows
of the metro bus
that is running late
and you and everyone else
just want to get home
because it is after ten
and your feet hurt
and you miss your baby

tired, but not too tired,
i stare at the bright sliver as the bus surges up and down dark Seattle hills
knotting my apron strings around my finger,
remembering a song my mother used to sing around the campfire
i see the moon
the moon sees me
the moon sees the one
i long to see

i wonder if anyone else on the bus is staring at it
but when i look around,
everyone seems to be gazing
doggedly ahead
like they aren’t sure they’ll ever get home
some are nodding off against the windows

when i step off the bus in our neighborhood
someone whistles from smoking area
of the bar on the corner
and i walk purposefully out of the streetlight glow
and into the quiet, warm dark of our neighborhood



Filed under blue collar, Ordinary, waitressing, watching it all go by

4 responses to “moon

  1. I just found your blog, and I have to tell you it is just incredible. I can’t get enough. This poem was just perfect. Thanks so much for sharing your voice.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s