seajay

a brown bag rests impatiently beside her tired feet.
patterns on the sidewalk engulf her vision.

traffic swims by,
footsteps joining in song.

but her concentration belongs to the ground.

her wristwatch ticks. percussion.
still she waits.


waits.


finally, a hissing sigh from the curb.
home is calling behind the opening doors.
the bus has arrived.

SarahNSH

Hello seajay!

I must say that with reading this poem after reviewing your other one, "Silence", even though this is only my second poem that I've read of yours I have to say that I really do enjoy your style... the way you write your poems is simple, yet, packs quite a punch to it with only a few words. With just describing a bus stop I was completely engaged in your poem... and I loved the details that you were describing with it. This poem as a whole is a favorite of mine, and the formatting of your poem too just adds to the overall enjoyment of it.

What I really do enjoy is just those little details that someone would normally overlook that you include in your poem... and you never seem to repeat the same subject twice, which I personally would have a hard time with. You jump from one image to the next fluidly and the poem just flows nicely and the line breaks and stanzas give the perfect pause for the reader to enjoy the images and what you're saying.

The ending, like the ending of your poem before is great and concludes your poem nicely:

finally, a hissing sigh from the curb.
home is calling behind the opening doors.
the bus has arrived.-

And I especially like how you say that home is calling behind the opening doors, a unique look and I felt like this when I would travel on the train a lot and on the train back home it just felt like home was calling me back. Anywho, I'm glad that I came across this poem of yours! After your first poem that I read I was definitely curious and interested in reading more of your work. Thank you for sharing and keep on writing away!

Libralight

"a brown bag rests impatiently beside her tired feet." While I'm not sure how a bag can rest impatiently, it does somehow connote the restlessness of the main character in this poem.

"patterns on the sidewalk engulf her vision." Again, I'm not sure how sidewalk patterns (what are sidewalk patterns?) can engulf vision. Later you've restated that "her concentration belongs to the ground."

I think the first of this is almost painful in it's silent anticipatory waiting, and the last part almost a relief because of the promise of home.

It's altogether very nicely done.

Bear

SEAJAY THIS IS A VERY WONDERFUL POEM, I love it, it reminded me of when I was living in Chicago and waiting for the bus to go to and come home from work. an awesome painting of words for the bus stop.
handshakes
bear