Stepping off the Bus
Jennifer Nightingale
We are all mortals on this bus
No one knows when or where they will step off
Yet we know each of us will
Watching fellow passengers disembark
We remember entwining burning hot fingers
Squeezing down to give courage and comfort
Or just our raw and silent presence
My sister raged at her nurses and doctors,
“You know I am going to die. Why the hell don’t you listen to me?!”
She raged until she lost her voice and never spoke again.
My friend Beth smiled and told me that she loved me
My father had a beatific stare and my mother’s clock ran down
Until it stopped
We rode this bus through mountain passes
Snow blinding us to what was to come
We rode the bus through summer
And sang old favorites in four parts
Yet we kept riding
Lurching forward as the bus made a stop
Sometimes in a dank fog, cold and unforgiving
A passenger was grabbed by the collar and thrown off
Violently, unexpectedly and without a chance
For a decent good-bye
When my turn comes
I hope for an early morning with a soft pink sky
And all the dogs I have ever loved waiting for me at my stop
I will not greet the moment with rage or acquiescence
But with curiosity, anticipation, and gratitude
No one knows when or where they will step off
Yet we know each of us will
Watching fellow passengers disembark
We remember entwining burning hot fingers
Squeezing down to give courage and comfort
Or just our raw and silent presence
My sister raged at her nurses and doctors,
“You know I am going to die. Why the hell don’t you listen to me?!”
She raged until she lost her voice and never spoke again.
My friend Beth smiled and told me that she loved me
My father had a beatific stare and my mother’s clock ran down
Until it stopped
We rode this bus through mountain passes
Snow blinding us to what was to come
We rode the bus through summer
And sang old favorites in four parts
Yet we kept riding
Lurching forward as the bus made a stop
Sometimes in a dank fog, cold and unforgiving
A passenger was grabbed by the collar and thrown off
Violently, unexpectedly and without a chance
For a decent good-bye
When my turn comes
I hope for an early morning with a soft pink sky
And all the dogs I have ever loved waiting for me at my stop
I will not greet the moment with rage or acquiescence
But with curiosity, anticipation, and gratitude