Woman Waiting for the Bus

Woman Waiting for the Bus

She’s impossible not to notice:

coffee-washed skin

and hair all attention

to the slant

of early morning

light¾breezes

and humidity fluff

it further than she expects¾

she sits with urgency,

on the edge of the bench,

road dust at open toes,

as she waits

for the southbound

bus to Cocoa.

She braces herself,

leaning forward,

with forearms resting

on gathered knees.

Her hands grip a bouquet

of apricot-colored roses

nestled in green

tissue paper

like apologies

or fervent kisses,

or sleeping babies,

or misplaced thoughts,

or each a please get well

enveloped

in their delicate,

wordless,

wrapping.