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The 105 Sherbrooke

Clara Frey


A woman boarded the bus

Bearing a bouquet of orange tulips

Timid, tightly shut little bulbs

Which she would bring home

To place on her kitchen table

Where they would slowly unfurl and expand

Until they looked swollen and somewhat tacky

Petals falling languidly on linoleum

Surrendering either to old age or the swatting of the cat

Yes, they would wither

But not before

Having braved the harsh, oppressive practicality of the bus

Their modest beauty puncturing the heavy grey shroud created by itinerancy and repetition

Not before

Defying cracked concrete roads and dull overcast mornings

They would certainly not wither when

The schoolgirl walloped their opalescent plastic packaging

With her tremendous, trundling tote

And they would not wither before

Sending along

A smidgeon of hope

To the solitary passenger

Searching for a sign of spring


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