Every Day

I see her
rush to the bus
curls blowing behind her
face open and alive.

Sweet smile to the driver
as her eyes pass the others
she finds a window seat
and opens her packsack.

The fingers peek from her gloves
to gently turn each page
her head bows to the words
allowing her hair to fall across her cheeks,
hiding.

The mechanical bus driver's voice signals
"Sixth Street".

She pulls the heavy strap to the top of her shoulder
passes the driver
"thank you"
and steps into the dawning city.