Waiting by Martha Christina

What’s your name?
the woman beside me asks.

We’re each waiting
for a bus in this small town’s
gift shop and bus stop. We’re
standing next to a display
of plastic bears clasping
painted hearts: female
names from Ann to Zoe.

Before I can answer,
she says hers is Linda,
. . .but the Ls are all gone.

She tells me how long she’s lived
in this town I’m just passing through;
where she works, how many years
she’s worked there, and that she has
the weekend off. She tells me
her coat is new, and she hasn’t
put the hood up because
it knocks her earmuffs off.
She tells me she has a cat: black
and white. His name is Kitty
but there’s only Kathy and besides
he’s a boy and besides he wouldn’t
like a bear and besides he can’t read.

She tells me she likes the bus,
takes it every Friday to a dance
two towns away where
friends will meet her,
and bring her home.

When her bus pulls up,
she claps her hands,
gives the driver her ticket,
asks his name, and if he
remembers her. He nods,
smiles a kind smile.

She waves as her bus
pulls away, leaving me
still, unnamed.



Martha Christina is a frequent contributor to Brevities. Longer work appears in Innisfree Poetry Journal, Naugatuck River Review, earlier postings of Red Eft Review, and most recently in the anthology Ice Cream Poems from World Enough Writers. She has published two collections: Staying Found (Fleur-de-lis Press) and Against Detachment (Pecan Grove Press).