Here I am again, waiting in this bus station
for someone to find me.
I've traveled so far from my home
and yet not one of my supposed loved ones has come to save me
from this embarrassing circumstance.

How long must I wait here,
looking busy and expectant.
So many hours have passed, that the attendants are giving me funny looks.
Who is this silly old woman
with her one small bag
and a letter clutched tightly in that tiny hand?
My hair must be a mess, and my clothes are very rumpled.
I fell asleep on the bus; it was the only way to escape the smell.
I never would have been in this kind of situation
when my husband was alive
and my children still thought of me.

You are so kind to listen to me ramble on.
Not many people would sit and hear an old woman like me,
worrying incessantly about my small troubles,
and speaking so often of my lost husband and uncaring children.
I'm sure it must seem quite cliche,
but perhaps that is because we all reach this point eventually.

Oh! Wait.
Do you see that small girl right over there,
holding on to her mother's hand?
I think that may be my granddaughter.
I haven't seen her in so long, and she's grown so big.
She's seen me and is running this way!

She has come to take me home.

©2001 embereye@diaryland.com