Fare (v.1).

On the bus today, a man who
didn’t have your smile
didn’t struggle to suppress another wave
of nausea. A girl whose brow bore
no resemblance to the one, which night
after night of quiet stroking has helped
me memorize, didn’t clench her eyes closed,
bite back tears. Neither did I. Neither
did the woman next to me. I saw she
had muscles seemingly strong enough to hold
up her own skin, which wasn’t bruised-
or hollow-looking. Sick or sunken-in.

I forget so easily
that we are a minority
in what we know. Their cereal bowls
each morning, overly-full of milk
are the weight of an I-V bag pulling
on your flesh. Their softball games,
the hour’s stolen rest that leaves us
too tired to remember if we dreamed.
Their cheeks flush with activity, you
blush with fever, your skin yellow, paper
aged before its time. Your story, mine.
Unrecognized. I share it on a city bus
and no one overhears.

In your closet, this year’s wardrobe:
hospital gowns in assorted prints.
this season’s style: flimsy and unflattering.
that’s no surprise. You gather it at your waist;
we work to redesign lives drained of color,
bloodless, misaligned.

You steady your burning body with
one icy hand. Struggle to remember
the best rhythm for your breath.
After you sleep, my tears fall; sometimes I forget
to wait that long. I didn’t mean for you to see
these symptoms of my grief. Just rest.
Escape awhile. Harvest some relief.

Close your eyes, breathe calmly, forget what you have seen.

On this bus, the people next to me never think to ask
about the maze of hospital hallways, the thick charts
in clumsy stacks. Stale jell-o we’ve discarded, the
acrid leak of this I-V. The story, the sickness, the
relationship. You, me. The history incessantly
marring our future with its theme.
their comfort ostracizes. How well we’re not.
How well they seem.

Today, a man who
didn’t have your smile
didn’t look at me. Full on.
The way you do. I made you
a blanket of my body and let loose
my tears into your sweat. Again.
Leaving us wet with a loss they do not know
they do not comprehend.

 -

Notes/ Disclaimers/ Questions on “Fare.”
Read a more recent version of “Fare.”