TriMet Conversation #317

"Are you OK?"
"I'm just tired," I say, "it's been a long day--"
long day doing what? Sitting at my desk
moving numbers around.
"Well, they can be that way,"
she says. "When I was young I worked on the docks.
Every day crude oil up to my waist.
Wanted to send my children to the best schools.
Every night I'd come home sit in the tub and cry."
She's frail, steel-wool hair at her temples,
in a wheelchair. Legs wrapped in
midnight-blue wool. Clean white tennies
that never touch ground.
"We do what we have to.
I haven't been down to the docks in years."
I imagine her young and strong,
picture her striding from pier to pier.
I see her walking
on water.

Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside