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Posts Tagged ‘bus’

Hello, Fear

How does she do it? She hitches a ride on the blow, a stowaway on that which brings her down.

            —Teddy Macker, “The Mosquito and the Raindrop”

There I was, making tea in my kitchen,

when fear hit me like a school bus.

I didn’t need a scientist or therapist

to tell me it hurt.

I screamed: Arghh! I shouted: No!

But after smashing into me,  

fear just opened the folding glass door

of the bus, yanked me on,

then plopped me into a green vinyl seat.

I’m scared, I said.

Yeah, fear said. ’Cause I’m scary.

Yeah, I squealed, as the bus careened

through the couch, through

my bedroom, through the splintering

dining room table.

What if I lose everything? I said to fear.

Yeah, said fear, what if you do?

And who will I be when everything changes?

Yeah, said fear, who will you be?

Then he opened the door

and shoved me off the bus

and I was standing again beside

the familiar green counter,

tea cup in hand, not a drop spilled.

Who will you be? he shouted

from the half open window.

I took a deep breath,

not knowing how to answer.

Good, fear said, as if uncertainty were a gift.

And who, fear said, as the bus peeled away,

who are you now? Who are you, really?

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The Worrier Goes for a Ride

 

 

 

And then, as I was walking the dirt road,

it hit me like a school bus: people

might not like me. I felt the rush of air before

the bumper connected with my butt, and knew

in that moment I could choose to be flattened or

choose to somehow crawl into that bus

and ride along with the jeers and snarls and sneers.

Okay, I said, as I clawed my way around the yellow fender

to the open door, a stowaway on my fear.

I climbed the green stairs and felt their stares:

icy, cruel, fierce. Others indifferent, bored.

I stared back, prepared to feel small.

Hello, I said, waiting for shame. But

that’s not what I felt at all. Instead,

some seed of awareness that I was not splattered

by fear but alive, and now moving in one direction

with this busload of what frightened me so,

And I was not flattened nor crushed nor bruised.

I took my seat. Felt their eyes on my back.

And the bus kept driving along. When it stopped,

I stepped off, surprisingly whole.

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