Amber Fare

The 47 at 4:47.

The light came through the window

the same way it came through

a different window, a different city, five years ago.

Same shade. Same time of day.

The woman next to me didn't notice.

Her work shirt was the color of every work shirt.

The collar was fraying.

I was thinking about another woman

in another shirt, in another city,

and how I thought I would leave.

How I thought the light would mean something

if I just got to somewhere else.

It's the same light.

The bus fare has gone up.

Everything else is exactly the same.

She got off two stops before me.

I didn't watch where she went.

I was wondering if she's still on buses,

still waiting for the amber light to mean something.

It never does.