The Bus Stop in Sepia
the bus stop
mother, son, dog
stroll into a sepia morning
trees shadowy and grey
camera in hand
i mark the moment
a photograph
to remember
the gentle footsteps
and easy conversation
years later
to recall
the pleasure of being
and the thoughts
of an adolescent mind
we arrive
a lone wood shelter for two
along portsmouth road
soft rain
dancing puddles under paw
we wait
words drift
like passing clouds
billowy and light
peacefully, together
a wet nose
nuzzling between us
it was but a few minutes
precious to me
before time swept away
with the sway of the bus door
an opening to farewell
our words familiar
“see you later ”
“have a good day”
he heads west into the village
over the hill
to the school
along the river mole
i turn south
towards littleworth common
such a name
was it a land of little worth
in king henry’s day?
when it was just three miles
from his palace doorstep
or perhaps a littleworth family
i never found out
a path of rolling mist
the train to london calls
whistle in the wind
a wagging tail flaps at my knees
like a wizardry shapeshifter
he slowly glides toward me
a man of undetermined proportions
we pass silently
as the english do
the bus stop
in front and behind us
a moment in time
mother, dog
walk home
a memory in sepia
a memory in sepia
Jeanne Henriques
