ode to marta

in honor of the many bus drivers who've waited for me as i've run to catch the bus

you're early-morning-pumpkin-muffin orange

banana-just-ripe yellow

bright-blanket-keeping-me-warm blue

and i'm

running

out the door

down the street

coat flapping

backpack bumping

hair in tangles

neighbors are laughing

yelling

cheering

it's coming

run!

as i step up

it's a half smile and fingers through hair

my pass beeping

falling into the seat

some mornings we're packed 

like sardines in water

or in oily drops of 

memory

frustration

anticipation

longing

other mornings

there's more space to thrash

and flash our fins

in each other's salt-laden, oxygen-rich brine
and
breathe

on weekends, marta,

on weekends you're

burnt orange like late afternoons

the mustard of turkey sandwiches carried to the park

or corndogs fried up for dinner

blue like summer sky

like little-girl eyes
(though who's a little girl anymore?)

oh

but i'm still
always

running!