I remember the day
I first realized
everyone had a consciousness,
their own lives and activities
outside of their time with me.
I sat on the torn, brown seat
of the school bus,
my face pressed to the cool glass
of the window as a friend
rushed away from me,
toward her home,
and I thought she’ll still be doing
things, just like I will be
when I get to my home.
We’ll both eat dinner
and do our homework,
talk with our mothers,
play games in our yards.
The bus pulled away,
the little red stop sign folding
against the yellow metal side
as we moved closer my home.
I remember that day
as I lounge in my donga,
the door flung wide
to the sky turned muddy and dark,
encouraging the neighbors to stop,
say hello,
collide for an extra second.
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