TOO CLOSE - by Debora Greger

 

 

TOO  CLOSE by Debora Gregor I haven't met you yet. I'm out the door, late for a bus, suitcase spilling open, disgorging my life so far. I won't be needing it, but don't know that yet. Bus driver, go slowly around the bends of dream so as not to wake me. But don't fall asleep yourself, no matter how empty the landscape of childhood seems. There is dust on the dust of the past. Through my reflection, I look out the window onto nothing: a fence full of tumbleweeds trying to keep a vast emptiness off empty highway. The past takes forever to cross. Bus driver, don't drive so near the river .