2 pm, the day after Halloween
riding the bus North out of Boston
I feel like Iím channeling my mother,
traveling six hours alone to see my boyfriend in Vermont
how many times
did she peoplewatch in South Station
waiting for the Greyhound to whisk her away
into the aptly titled Green Mountains and
my fatherís arms?
am returning home
but she was leaving,
unsuspecting but apprehensive.
how many times did she makes this trip,
did she tuck her twenty-year old sweatered body
into a scratchy seat
and open a book, Bruce Springsteen rocking invisibly
through her headphones?
upon her arrival
was it worth it?
what about the marriage?
did the children make the marriage worth it
or vice versa?
she could not
know that her daughter, too,
would have someone waiting at the station
thirty years later,
but it would not be a man, or even a boy.
she could not know that when
I stepped off the bus in Burlington
and she was waiting
that the voyage was
11 November 2002