I Wrote This on The Bus Ride Home

The finer details of riding the bus with intention

By Yve Spengler

I take this bus every day, but somehow, the familiar rumble of the ride felt different this time. I entered the poet’s world, where coffee stains and thinning plush cushions create a home. Where the romantic buildings sing an accompanying tune with the humming sun— where taking one intentional bus ride can release you from the chokehold of your own immuring thoughts. 

The ripened creak of the bus rolled us, a small community, into motion. It was early morning as I looked around and caught strangers staring through cold, smeared glass. Others slightly swayed to beats in their ears. Most eyes were captured into the worlds provided by their phones, like mine— 

Why do we each prefer our solitude to each other? The comfort of anonymity tunes us into our own selves, free from the potential judgment of others. Each of us is in a private bubble, yet all connected by an invisible string, unobservable to unnoticing eyes. The screens turn off when

we jolt 

to a stop, new faces trailed in like an army of ants. I looked through the windows, seeing an endless sky rapidly melting Minneapolis into silhouettes of ambiguous buildings and bare-boned trees. Deep voices of friends murmured together, 

mingling into memories of falling asleep when surrounded by entrusted friends. There you are, in your own world, music wrapping you into the safety of your solidarity. The peaceful state of foreloneness in a crowded place. Acceptance makes itself known in these spaces — 

can you hear it 

when your lips move to the lyrics of your favorite song? It whispers of your goodness, your place in this world. Taking this bus ride with you,

I understand my simple existence alongside yours. There is no need to fall into a facade. Until she arrives, worries of the future can wait. Chains of the past can be unshackled. We are free within this poetic world to simply be. Give wonder back to yourself as you look out the window this morning, taking in the red graffiti on top of the bridge. You can finally feel the way you’ve needed to for a long time.