A woman of thirty

A woman of thirty,
maybe mid-thirties,
chubby, pale, brown-haired
(as if she were my own
never-begotten sister
behind me by twenty years),
got on the bus in Arlington
on the coldest day in March
wearing crocs out of which
her heels, without socks,
spoke, in red language,
of tiredness and pain.

A wayward fringe of hair,
lately pestered by icy wind,
teased her right eyebrow.
Why didn’t she wear a hat?
She eased herself, slowly,
weighed down with care
and a cumbrous winter coat,
into a seat toward the back.
It was palpable, her relief.

Poetry by Uncle Meridian The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 77 times
Written on 2022-04-30 at 09:13

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Alan J Ripley The PoetBay support member heart!
This brings me back to a time when in the middle of winter I realized I was getting old. Me huddled up in coat and hat,
Her walking boots shortest of skirts tiny top nothing round her
Midriff, Me younger. Core she looks fit. Me older. How can she wear that in this weather! Once again your writings speaks to me. May your god go with you. Alan

Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
Perhaps a nurse at the end of her day? Perhaps a helper released to her own life for a while?
Whatever, a brilliantly observational poem that paints a clear picture but wisely leaves the reader's mind attempting to put the pieces together into a larger image. Bravo!

Ingvar Loco Nordin The PoetBay support member heart!
This places me right there, behind your eyes! Brilliant!