The bus driver watched you in the mirror,
His eyes wide with fear,
When you stood up in the middle of the bus,
Crying like a terrified child.
Passengers waited with bated breath,
Wondering what you would do.
The sharpness of your pain
Pierced me like a sword,
Deep in my belly,
And I reached for you.
My fingers clutched your purple dress
With urgent appeal,
And you looked at me with mournful eyes,
Red-rimmed and afraid.
“Everything will be okay,” I said,
Soothingly, as if anything I could say
Could erase your pain.
Your wailing stopped,
Like a passing storm,
And a flicker of light
Seemed to shine in the deep water-pools of your eyes.
You stumbled down the steps
At the next bus stop,
And I watched you hurry down the street
In perfect calm.
Dawn Pisturino is a retired nurse in Arizona whose publishing credits include poems, limericks, short stories, and articles. Her poetry has appeared in several anthologies, most recently in "Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women" and the "2023 Arizona Literary Magazine." A monthly contributor for Gobblers & Masticadores, she is a member of Mystery Writers of America and the Arizona Authors Association.