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You can't safely have a cigarette outside of the bus terminal
without a couple of folk asking for one.
You can't safely have a cigarette in general.
But, if five of them have to last you a night and a sunrise,
you don't really mind turning down a few nameless hands.
Some of the bus drivers like to talk about football, weather;
others complain about management or the patrons;
a few don't say much at all, avoiding sympathy.
They're probably the smart ones.
They don't want to learn the sad stories in between stops.
I usually like to just sit in the back and ride out the best bumps.
The handrails jiggle and crash with every pothole.
-
The men who work at the metal scrap yard
usually get on in front of Debbie's Diner on 22nd street.
Bundled up for warmth and firm of face, they only speak to each other.
Small talk about who almost missed the bus, broken crane joints,
and who moved the most barrels of copper piping fill the blocks.
They tend to pick on the guy who runs the aluminum can crusher;
big guy, they call him "Boose" and he couldn't be much older than I am.
His hands and lips are dry and cracked from exposure,
but his face still shows ember of teenage years, though jilted.
There is a bar that serves three-dollar chili across the street, spicy.
The workers go there when they miss the first bus, have a beer,
down a bowl of boiling chili, and catch the return bus in better moods.
-
The railroads on Brush College road tend to hold up traffic.
The ADM plant doesn't really mind if a few twenty-something mothers
are late to their practical nursing and phlebotomy classes,
but they voice their complaints out of a cracked window to the side
of a ten story soybean silo nonetheless; steaming ears and all.
I stare at the graffiti on the laggard train cars, each unique
in color, quality, style, and message; the industrial Louvre.
These waits sometimes last a half hour or more.
In the days before Pell grant rewards come in,
when students still feel like they're working toward tangible cash,
the seats are all packed with heavy breathers.
The air becomes thick with community college carbon coughs.
tlp
What if you told me not to speak to you again?
Well if I had something to say,
I would have found another way.

I would write you a letter,
Have it sent out the next day.
If you don't answer,
I'll know you threw it away.

I would send a friend to tell you.
If he hangs his head and walks away,
I'll know you slammed the door in his face.

I would hire a skywriter to put my words in the clouds.
If you didn't call,
I would know you didn't go outside that day.

If all else fails,
I would learn sign language,
Show up on your doorstep and sign
"You told me not to speak to you again."
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
You looked at me, with those gentle
eyes,
On the balcony of that cold starry
night.
The hours ticked away, filled with our
laughs.
We hoped for longer but you had to go
back.
Ever since then we've talked, but who
knew,
That even though apart, the closer we
grew.
Your beautiful words of love fuel my
smiles,
And they make this long wait totally
worthwhile.
These 350 miles won't stand in our
way,
For I continue to love you, every single
day.
I used to be in denial about long distance relationships because how could you love someone you never see?

Now I know I was wrong because not even distance matters when it comes to love.
they call us in

the women
who bring us

through the eye
the elder-wise mother
who is sister
daughter, lover, all

holding space apart
for us to enter

feminine shape
at the beginning

brightness resting in
and upon the earth

the tender choice

bringing light
to being

bringing cause


MChallis @ 2015
 Jan 2015 Courtney Holcomb
AJ
the pills made me feel something when the boys didn't.
I had started taking mouthfuls of migraine medication to make my body slow down that now if I take it normally to make headaches go away, everything becomes double and I'm ill.
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