The Bus

(Based on the painting by Frida Kahlo)

I sigh as I board the bus

on my way to the market,

my basket over my arm.

I notice,

as I do with everything in my life,

the irritation I feel

toward the others who share my bench.

Their open faces,

comfort with their own bodies,

while I age and

wear my unhappiness like a cloak.

 

I will plan a meal

for a man I once loved.

He will gobble it down

wordlessly

scraping his plate clean.

He will wipe his mouth

and grunt as his chair

moves away from the table.

 

I will wash the dishes

while he reads paper,

rustling the pages

and sighing as though he has

the weight of the world

upon his shoulders.

 

We will go to bed,

barely a word spoken

between us

our backs to each other,

not touching.

 

And I will remember

how he once

hungered for me

in my youth, my beauty.

Now my heart is as heavy

as my child-stretched middle

Both aching and empty

From lack of love,

His touch.

 

Eve Remillard

6/22/19

One thought on “The Bus

  1. Eve, your speaker’s progression through the day is full of pain and weariness. These are palpable starting with

    I notice,
    as I do with everything in my life,
    the irritation I feel
    toward the others. . . .

    and then continue with the scenes from home. Though this speaker is tired, she (I assume) is real and relatable. Though she might be irritated with me were I on the bus, these inner thoughts make her a bit – well, even likable because she is so honest.

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