my mother makes memories crawl on my skin

my mother makes memories crawl on my skin

like blood from an open wound

i alight from the taxi

and make my way to the bus stop

i pay the conductor

whose eyes hold beauty & charm

whose arms i want to make a home

he takes the money

i begin to wonder where the pain aches more

& if i could run my tongue on him in search of  the fire that burns

i know he finds joy elsewhere other than home

because two lovers in a deserted home know where the climax lies

i give him a tip

& the bus drives away

i clutch my bag to my chest

a passenger starts to pray

he asks god for journey mercies

i bite my lips & pray

that god neglects their prayers like he does mine