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At the Bus Stop

01/23/12 5:00AM

Sammy Storz, a freshman at St. Johnsbury Academy, has this to say about her poem: "The woman in this piece, however hard her life may be, is always smiling.  People like her really motivate me to write, people who are stubbornly optimistic. She didn't know the narrator, yet she decided that the girl meant something to her. Living in rural Vermont, I find that I encounter many of these people; life is hard here, but you can't keep them from smiling."

 

The homeless lady

at the bus stop,

who probably wasn't homeless,

thought I was homeless.

 

At least I 

hoped

she wasn't homeless.

It gets cold 

around here, at night.

30 below, on 

occasion.

 

She was matronly

and old,

And wore a  

baby blue frock

with a picture of 

Eeyore

and the words 

"Often Grumpy,"

although her character said

differently.

 

She had a laughing face.

Creased.

Wise.

 

She saw me sitting there -

at the bus stop,

smiled,

and sat down next to me.

 

She asked me if I had 

eaten

at all today.

 

Concerned with my 

personal image,

and that of my family,

I said yes,

I wasn't homeless,

and I didn't want to

look

like I was.

 

Getting on the bus,

I noticed I was the only 

child

there. 

 

A couple sitting in the back

looking wasted,

and a middle-aged man

with earphones

were the only ones on the bus.

 

I sat down on a torn seat

and the old woman

sat next to me.

 

She must have wanted to 

protect me, or 

something.

I think she was 

(sincerely)

concerned.

 

About what I don't know, 

but looking back on this a few 

years

later, I realize

how skinny I must've 

looked.

 

Walking past the bus stop the next day

I saw her,

and she was smiling;

again I didn't know why.

 

But I waved and walked in her 

direction.

 

And she offered me a 

sandwich.

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