Poetry

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After about twenty years, she went back to the city where it
started and boarded one of those city buses, a red, red
one, kind of like the one they had traveled in a
lot during the whimsical, wintry nights;
hopeful, yet fearful of when the
cocoon might give; she then
happens to chance on a
young man two seats
upfront with that
selfsame slouch,
unmistakable,
yet distant.
On a
whim, she
almost reaches
to shout out that
her torturer has now
gone and would not come
again to haunt her any more
and he could come back and stay
with her and live his life full; as if he
were just reborn to her anew; the red bus
stops abruptly and the man catches himself from
falling; turns back involuntarily and catches a very frail
old lady staring at him. Her searching gaze faltering yet again.