I Could Swear I Hear Song

There is a morning bus

with women bound

for work and school,

for all I know, perhaps,

romantic rendezvous,

baristas and bank clerks,

anarchists, interns,

teachers, gurus, CPAs,

art students, attorneys,

hooligan babes.

Complexion latino, Nordic,

ruddy, café au lait, noir,

hair blonde and gray,

blue streakt, pink, henna colored, green,

braided, curled, pony-tailed, buzzed,

arms and legs tattooed,

ears and eyebrows pierced,

and not tattooed, not pierced,

brightly colored scarves furled

around pale necks,

suits, leather jackets, jeans,

long, loose-fitting dresses,

short, tight skirts,

barelegged, black tights, fishnets,

running shoes, boots, heels,

they are tough and tender-eyed,

laconic, laid-back, loony,

reticent, somber, thoughtful, gay,

hip, nonchalant, chic,

toting backpacks, book bags, yoga mats,

intent on graphic novels,

zombies, Zadie Smith,

collected works of Adrienne Rich,

anatomy books,

sketchpads, iPhones.

Thumbs twitch in syncopated frenzy

texting and twitting and gaming.

What secrets do they share?

what gossip? what banality?

what intimations of beauty?

They are my age

and my niece's age

and my niece's daughter's age.

If they notice me at all,

it is only in passing.

This is as it should be.

What matters,

I am not dead to their charms

nor immune to their mystery,

desire no more dead in this heart

than in those hearts that beat

with the rhythm of the river,

the trochaic wash of wave onto shore,

the fall of light onto page,

the rhyme of leaves

shivering with amaze.

Across the bridge

curling in to the city center,

they gather their things,

button coats, zip jackets, pull scarves tight,

pour from the bus at each stop,

heels clacking along shadowed sidewalks,

across broad plazas, past

food carts and opium dens,

bound for whatever beyond

the day may hold.

I could swear I hear song

that stains blue the air

and catches winter light

the wind blows back across the river

with tambourines and guitars

that glint in morning sun

and quiver with yearning.

"I Could Swear I Hear Song" previously appeared in The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature.

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