Look Out
Teeth brushed hair combed
face washed?
Coat boots lunch-kit
kiss See ya
On the porch entry way I pull open the inside door
Warm collides with cold
Standing and waiting morning dark lifts
I watch for the bus from the West
Upper spring, book-mark hinge
and chest-high clasp connect
storm door with frame
winter window, dull with layered ice
replacement for the summer screen
I lean on the frozen solid
wood weathered scalloped spilt brown
Nose on frost on glass
fingernails scurry
squeak back and forth
shucka shucka shucka
frozen nails painted
snow-shave white
Open mouth donut lips
breathe out
Hold
Hole melts
opaque disperses
Yellow will zoom around
Gooseberry Bend. I hear the bus
surge forth down the flat
before its lights surrender to my eyes
coming to a halt at the end of my
too long driveway
I run I make it
We depart
~ Gayle Sacuta
“A lot of time was spent riding the bus between ages 6 and 18. To ward off boredom we sang songs and played Crazy Eights, Cheat and Hearts. In high school we needed to drive to catch the bus to Wm. E. Hay Composite, in Stettler. I stayed in town with my Aunt Mildred for Grade 10, but I missed the security of home. For Grades 11 and 12, I moved back to the farm and continued driving to catch the bus.”
Read more of Gayle Sacuta’s poetry:
– Sandy Field
– Soil Stories
– Vast Prairie Puja
– Where Are You From?
Great visuals. Nice pacing. I felt the anxiety and could see the bus.