The Woman

The woman stood at the bus stop
In summer’s warm July, breeze
Three young children. A boy, two girls
Dressed in red, silver, gold and green

Took me back to cheerful colours
Of Christmas
And the cold and the snow
Carolling singing and gift giving

But no one was singing
And no one was giving
Three young children pulling
long black tassels dangling
from the woman’s red ball room dress

One child. The little boy, overjoyed
Of the family’s outing, prancing
with a sway; slightly swinging
Here, there posing

Hand in empty pocket, chest pouting
A convincing proud pharaoh; ruling
floating on well paved sidewalk runway
Unaware his green suit was out of style
Vintage purchase from a used clothes isle

And the little girls looked on
Sweating in their red, silver and gold
Still holding the black tassel
Motionless

And the sun rays were sharp and straight
Pointing at the glass shed where they waited
And the bus took like forever
Sweat pouring down the children’s face
Like melting candles on a Christmas tree

And the woman kept drying sweat
And straightening the un-ironed
Crushed collar hugging her son’s neck
Reached in an old black purse
Passed around water for each child to sip
And I watched all of this

And the sun was pelting
a sweltering burning heat.
She was on lowered knees
Fixing the swaggers suit.
Brushing the young girls hair
While she herself was need

And I wanted to say something
Pay her a nice compliment. Anything.
And when I looked at her trying eyes
I freeze
Feeling the force of her pushing
Fighting with poverty

My thoughts brought me back
To when I was a single mother
Turning hands to make better
Walking in the dreadful dark
Holding a bright light.
And the tears I held tight
Fell.