what is it about a spring morning in the city? i’ve lived in sf proper for three years and still the rattle rattle rattle sqeeek of a bus passing me on a dry april morning recalls me to england.
days when i took off my shoes to feel the cool grass of a city park and still wasn’t yet willing to give up the sweater wrapped around my arms and shoulders like an apology for having to wake up this early.
i wait for the train to work this morning. if i close my eyes and listen to the sounds of trucks banging down the street and beep beep beep back up the street, then all that’s missing is the rutabaga rutabaga rutabaga of fellow travelers and the knowledge that someone has gone off to find us coffee and croissants. if i just close my eyes i can be in victoria station one more time, waiting for another train to moss covered cemeteries and forgotten names etched in stones nearly worn smooth with time.
the only cemeteries i spend time in now, however, are those full of names i’ve heard since childhood. men of legends like grandpa pete. women who feuded are lain so close that if their arms could still stretch out they couldn’t help but touch. two fresh mounds wait for warmer days when sod and headstones can be set.
and we all hold our breath knowing before spring is over we will have laid one more to rest under the tree. i dream of london and st. petersburg, but my heart is in barberton and if i could go anywhere right now it would be there.
> 5 Things
- open toed shoes
- blue wrappy thing
- white rose
- french toast
- ‘favourites’ list on itunes
- chai
- parking spot near station
- still hot water left after housemates’s shower