who waited below the bronze bell,
still, amidst the smell of coffee
and the flow of human sea waves
breaking against old, red pillars
which held up a mirage of hope,
this is my thank you note to you.
I was a rolling stone rebel
with a pocketful of tickets,
wearing shoes used to small town dust
and a knapsack full of fresh dreams.
I almost drowned in that platform
while stepping off the train from town.
Surfing was never my strong suit.
Like lost mist I floated, and eyes
deemed me invisible enough
to disregard and look straight through.
When clocks struck a hesitant ten
you helped me with dire directions.
Our stops are on the same straight route,
you said, and we boarded bus eight.
For a split second I could see
lingering sorrow on your lips
as though I wore the lifeguard’s vest
while your limbs froze underwater.
The journey seemed like strands of hair
tucked into a thick princess braid,
long but studded with hidden gems.
At my stop you got off with me.
We’d missed yours accidentally
so you jogged across black and white,
boarding bus ten across the street.
Thank you for going the wrong way
just to help a stranger that day.