smart trips

sun shines through and warms my left foot.

this city is a forest

forest

of neoclassical columns.

bus rides begin with yamakas

zipped-up babies

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.