Submitted by Mark J. Mitchel
At this bus stop I watched her mouth
expand into an o before the sound
escaped. What lips and lungs made loud
was unnamable—an ache of grief found
on streets, homes, beds, from north to south,
wherever the soul borer comes around.
We had no idea what she’d lost, none of us
could see anything but pain. We got on the bus.
About the Poet
Mark J. Mitchell’s latest novel, The Magic War just appeared from Loose Leaves Publishing. He studied writing at UC Santa Cruz under Raymond Carver and George Hitchcock. His work has appeared in the several anthologies and hundreds of periodicals. Three of his chapbooks— Three Visitors, Lent, 1999, and Artifacts and Relics—and the novel, Knight Prisoner are available. He lives with his wife, the activist Joan Juster and makes a living pointing out pretty things in San Francisco. A meager online presence can be found here.
Painting: Early Sunday Morning – Edward Hopper
These are great Brian. I am so glad to find your poetry journal. It will be a pleasure to receive these in my In Box.
Love this one. This poem oozes sensitivity.
This is so thought provoking and heart wrenching all in one. You have made us have feelings for someone we don’t even know. Well done Mr. Mitchell. Excellent choice Brian!
I like Hopper with this poem…he and Mark both capture a simple scene with something much deeper beneath it!
Oh, this left me feeling a bit angry! Well-written to get me there though. Seeing pain and then doing nothing about it. Grrrr
A snapshot of grief expressed with care. This really spoke to me.