A Beautiful Black Woman Opens Her Door

A fresh Thursday morning; 7:27;
I stand on a stranger's driveway,
Admiring my feminine shadow and popping my hip.
I am listening to the birds' song
But, namely, am waiting for the day-
And this poem- to start.
 
At 7:32, like a ship rising over the horizon,
It is spotted rolling up Reetz and heading my way.
I, immediately, smile as the mechanisms,
In this large rectangular prism,
Squeak, "Good day to you too."
A beautiful black woman simply pushes a button
And opens her door to me.
 
Now I love the bus.
I love riding it,
Watching it pass,
Knowing the routes,
And waiting for it-
Just not for too long.
I love the ads for women's health centers
Printed in both Spanish and English.
I love the plastic blue chains with fabric embedded
So as to offer to offer the idea of comfort.
I love the community it could create.
 
I love the bus!
It gets me where I need to go
And, with my new summer bus pass,
It, seemingly, asks for nothing in return
So I slide my card and the machine giggles a beep.
The bus driver, who opened her door, compliments my style
And I tell her her hoop earrings look raw.
 
Now we all know this scene, it may be needless to describe
The way in which loud and talkative youth commandeer the back seats;
The way in which nervous old people occupy the front;
The way in which most everyone looks pissed
And you fear your choice of seat will result in some terrible judgment;
The way in which people choose to stand instead of sit
Next to someone who looks "ghetto", has dreads or might be gay-
They choose to stand, in isolation, than to sit next to someone
Who must be too fat, smells too poor to shower or is far too old.

So I strut down the catwalk that is the middle of the bus,
Pirouetting down an aisle and into a seat,
Smiling at whoever dares to make eye contact.
I recognize a girl from school,
Who reclines with her feet on another seat
And is texting incessantly.
I recognize a really good-looking guy,
Who I've been admiring since winter
But have been too nervous to talk to.

Now, fellow riders, please don't be misled.
I love the bus, but I'm not so naive.
I know the fare increase is some bogus s**t
That only allows the businesspeople of Metro
Pay raises and sips from Starbucks mochas at community forums.
And I know that low-income areas that really need the bus
Are grossly under-routed while bourgeois liberal neighborhoods
See it every 15 minutes.
I know there’s work to be done.
 
But I love the bus because it gets me to where I need to go.
I love the bus because it could get us to where we need to go.
I love the bus because I see it's potential.

I love the bus as it circles the West Transfer Point at 7:39
(And it’s already getting full).
I sit in my own corner, reflecting on alienation- as I often do-
Hating those who find themselves too good
To sit next to those who make them uncomfortable.
"Are you blind," I want to nag, "There's a spot open right there,
Next to the adopted Uruguayan you assume is fresh off the border;
One between the pregnant teen and the man who appears fat, old and senile;
One by a social outcast whose eyes only pierce the ground before her;
And... one next to me."

At 7:43 a tall beautiful woman,
Who looks like the Asian character from the ER,
Surveys the back seats, but decides to stand.
I have cleared the spot next to me and judge her for not taking it.
The girl, from school, pays no mind to the new passengers
And continues to elevate her feet, texting,
Unbothered.

A smaller and less regal woman
Pokes her head into the back of the bus,
But doesn’t notice an appealing spot.
"There are people who need to sit! Put your feet down!"
I snap at the girl I recognize while she feigns a sore leg.
 
As more people file onto the bus the ER character
Is forced to sit next to me.
All while I realize that alienation is gray,
That there are no perpetrators and victims on this bus
And that alienation runs both ways.
 
That both women should not
Be blamed for my disagreeable face
And for my friend and her stubbornness.
And that her excuse for not moving her feet
Is just as poor as any I've used
To stop myself from complimenting the cute guy.
Yet, all the same, it is not my fault
That the timidness and ignorance of others
Prevent them from taking up a seat next to me.
Alienation… runs both ways.

And all that's required to challenge this pattern
Is the simple effortless act of opening your door;
Letting your guard down, for just a moment,
To bid a stranger good day.
All that's required is to be like the black woman,
Who opened her door and complimented my style,
For only a moment.
And, in it, the walls of alienation will shake to their core.

And so, considering the ER character seated to my left
And the bag of May Day fliers at my feet,
I feel the urge to strike against the unspoken politics of the bus
By... striking up a conversation.
The urge grows inside only to be squished by the voice of reason;
Only to find myself a little too nervous to do so.
This is not to say that I didn't try--
We all have our insecurities and complications
That come to immobilize us every once in a while.
But, at 8:31, when I get off the bus
Nothing had happened.

Reviews

[Emme]

When my sister read this at the forensics meet, the coach's husband told me that this has a lot of insight especially for a teenager. The coach said that she liked your use of words that most of us wouldn't think to use. I loved this poem when I first heard it, and I still do. I'm glad you're putting it in your chapbook.

I definitely agree that alienation runs both ways. I was a bit of a loner in middle school, but that wasn't just everybody else's fault. I didn't try to start many conversations and in fact I shunned some people who tried to talk to me.

Once again, this is a great poem :)