Sukrita Paul Kumar
Ageing In America
Words and sounds
gushing out of the
woman’s mouth
the woman with the hat
All ears eager and
eyes alert
in the Greyhound
from Chicago to Iowa
“Me don’t want them tall buildings,
See, that small house there”
All faces turned that way
“That’s what I want.”
“Friday evening, leaving home,
reaching Monday morning to work,
Los Angeles to New York –
Many times,
many times over!”
“Too old to work now, ah!
Young enough to live, hee!”
Words hopping to the back seats
as she thrust her face forward
spitting some more words
“Retired? Sacked or fired?”
“Is that Chicago?” Adjusting the
flowers on her hat “I like Chicago!”
Her questions finding
their own answers
or hanging suspended
in the moving bus
upside down
The yellow teeth twittering
Her black wrinkled skin
loosening from her face;
At Iowa City
The next halt
She sprang from her seat
“This city is mine”
declared she,
“I was born here”
As the greyhound
moved away
half an hour later,
with a blanket on one arm
and her basket
hanging on the other,
she was
still standing
on the bus stand
with expectant eyes
waiting for someone
to take her home
where she was born.
