I overheard a woman on the bus today
Ticking off her losses to her seatmate
Both were weathered beyond and guessing
By the harsh streets of Austin
“My mother, my father, my sister, my cousin, my aunt, my grandmother,
My gray-gray grandmother….”
Sympathetic clucks and nods were all she got.
Because that’s not what you’re supposed to talk about
To a stranger on a bus.
Or to anyone anywhere else.
Loss is a funny thing
As it always happens
Whether we present it neatly or not
It’s like passing an empty can of peanuts
For others not to eat
[Why are you giving me this?]
Sure is hot out, isn’t it?
Amanda Bloodgood
July 2011
