Unmasked

I heard verse coming from my seatmate on the 803

Her hands moved in rhythm to the words she recited.

Her voice crescendo-ed until the bus driver told her to hush

She turned to me and apologized in a quiet voice

I put down my phone and said, “No need,” I liked listening to your poetry.

Her eyes widened in surprise. I’d surprised myself by unmasking my guarded demeanor.

Unsolicited, she told me her story, revealed herself openly and honestly.

This sixty-year-old urban camper, her possessions at her feet

In a camouflage hat and green bandana, her pockets filled with necessities.

As a girl she rode her horse on her family’s three acres, now she rides buses.

The youngest of five children—five older brothers, the oldest a generation away.

Her older conservative parents no longer had the energy of a boisterous daughter.

A girl with a propensity for trouble left college after a semester to backpack across the U.S.

An Urban Camper with dreams of living in Malta, or joining Botswanan women.

Most of her teeth were missing, along with a place to live.

Now all the urban campsites fenced off—a practice of most progressive cities.

She did not want money or food or pity, only a person who would listen

Someone to talk to from Justin to Republic Square Station.

Someone not hiding behind a surgical mask or telephone screen.

I could grant her that simple request and listen to her poetic verse

Her knowledge of tribes in Botswana, her dreams of living in Malta.

When we reached her stop, she gathered her belongings and moved to the door.

She stepped down to the curb, turned and waved at me with her toothless smile.

I waved back as the bus door closed, leaving me a positive start to my day,

Unmasked with dreams of Malta.