Top of the Mornin’
I have to write something, so I am going to sit here until I do.
Should I be worried when a woman sits next to me on a bus and starts writing poetry about falling from grace and former glory?
Riding the bus, listening to my music, when a tall brunette in her late twenties wearing an earth tone sweater and tan pants sits next to me. She’s chipper. Not in an annoying way, but her movements are precise and sudden. Unlike me, sh doesn’t seem tired and sluggish. After sitting still for two minutes, she darts into her bag/briefcase/purse and pulls a scrap paper. It remind me of the ditto’s teachers assigned in school. Its a photocopy of a photocopy, black blotches nearly obscuring the text. She writes a phrase or two in pencil. Flips her hair and the paper over and starts another phrase. I barely caught a glimpse:
“FALL FROM GRACE”
His body slumped from the weight of former glory
By the time my part of the bus ride ends, she has written about seven lines of what I can only assume was a poem. I could never write poetry. I tried, I really did. Ask some of my ex-girlfriend’s, they were subjected to more than a few desperate attempts at poetry. I can’t read it either. Her morning inspiration is an anomaly to me. She raced to find paper and pencil and started to write something in public. A 6’4” stud muffin crowding her into an overweight, Latina teenager and when the urge to be creative bubbled up, she committed to it, and wrote something provoking, beautiful, awful, or very plain…that’s art to me.
So while I never understand “Fall from Grace”, I’ll respect it.
