Mortality and poetry

I wrote this on the bus last night. Can I just say how much I hate the #66 bus sometimes? Two buses passed me by, while I stood, in the rain, frantically waving my hands. But we made it to Girls n Queers First anyway, where where we heard the phenomenal words and music of Ren Jender, Jme, Margaret Caruso, and Kit Yan.

Wounded

A woman on the bus
waits her turn to go home, too
while a younger man
methodically pushes buttons on his
cell phone. I don’t notice
right away
that she is injured.
underneath her pants leg
discretely pushing her shoe out
ever so slightly
is a familiar looking
air cast, the kind in
the back of my closet
from when I sprained my ankle.
I wonder as I watch her
limp off the bus, favoring
her left leg
how many others
have wounds we never see?
Sprained ankles, slipped discs,
kidney failure, heartache,
grief.
The list is infinite,
unlike us.

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~ by realsupergirl on October 18, 2006.

2 Responses to “Mortality and poetry”

  1. ooh i love that. especially the line “how many others
    have wounds we never see? “

  2. Thank you…

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