Urban Lyric

Urban Lyric 

The gaunt lady of the service wash

stands on the threshold and blinks in the sunlight. 

Her face is yellow in its frizz of hair

and yet she smiles as if she were fortunate. 

She listens to the hum of cars passing

as if she were on a country lane in summer, 

or as if the tall trees edging this

busy street scattered blessings on her. 

Last month they cut a cancer out of her throat.

This morning she tastes sunshine in the dusty air. 

And she is made alert to the day’s beauty,

as if her terror had wakened poetry.