Just Another Bus Ride

The acacia trees look so confused.

And this is yet another bus ride I promise

to write about; I promise

to burn in my memory; I promise

to pray over.  But I will forget.

 

I want to paint the acacia trees

with dry brushes on wet paper.

I want to free their stunted branches.

I want to throw my hands over their branches,

swing my body back and forth.

 

Oh acacias, I am sorry

for gazing at you with rushed and tired eyes.

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