sun shines through and warms my left foot.
this city is a forest
of neoclassical columns.
bus rides begin with yamakas
and The White House.
the Constitution is my co-worker
and Pennsylvania Avenue is my chauffeur.
going home goes like this:
she gets off and runs like
the wind, or forrest,
Forrest!, he yells in front of the national gallery
private school kids call the suicide hotline
and neither are funny.
and there’s a young woman in a wheelchair who makes me feel
sorry so sorry that i get off at
*ding* stop requested: L street...
a stop early and then the homeless man I helped feed
last Friday at Miriam’s Kitchen
shakes a cup full of change.
are we there yet?
or have we been here all along?
i have memories of familiarities
from before they ever were
and i have heart space for people
that existed long before we ever met.