i turned back
to see if anyone was there
with her
in the back of the bus
when she started talking.
there wasn't,
there were only two people
besides us
and the driver,
and they were in front of me,
the seat in front of me,
three seats from the front.
She was three seats from the back,
and talking to her mom on the phone
in a wavering tone i once knew by heart.
But
i have to look
to even tell that that voice is hers

she stops talking, meets my stare, coldly
and then, as me and the other two
exit onto the mid-morning fog-covered street
she stands and follows,
three blocks from her stop

i try starting a conversation
with the familiar face walking near me.
he answers- it's awkward and silent,
except for the sound of her
crunching dead puddles and flattening grass,
staring blankly through my back.

He runs the last bit,
She keeps her pace.
I round the fence.
She Stares
I reach for the doorknob,
it's locked.
I knock
She Stares.
I stand there, waiting,
and meet her stare.
She rounds the corner,
passes the jeep, the truck,
crosses the street,
keeps her eyes on me.
they're empty, emotionless, foreign,
so are mine;
standing on the doorstep she never stood on,
knocking on the door she never stood knocked on,
meeting those once familiar eyes
in a final, ear splittingly silent goodbye




©Brandon Webb
2012