Ziiiiine

NOT A PRESS

Bus Stop

On the way to forest camp

By Corinna Schulenburg

subway to subway to
bus I bring her
to the kind of woods
you get in cities:
not wild, but not exactly
ours, either.
the mask keeps her
from fiddling
with her teeth. the mask
keeps her safe
as anyone can be.
after all,
in the woods
trees fall over
and just like people
they don't always tell you
why or when.
sometimes it's a storm,
sometimes it's just
time. it's time,
stop requested,
that lurch begins, the kind
that reminds you
water covered the whole
earth and will again. she holds
my hand like I won't
ever fall. green light,
push, and the doors
stumble open, spill us
like rejected coins
onto the sidewalk which is just
trying to keep from melting.
I still have her hand.
camp is across the street,
I know by the sound
the kids make, the kind
of high giddy murmuration
that is laughter,
that is lamentation
for all the things that aren't fair,
and she runs to it,
her own throat opening
to their song. the forest
is right there, breathing
with its deep, green lungs.
green light, cross the street,
and look! another bus comes,
almost like it knew
how badly I needed
to head home.