Uphill

They would wait for her to step out, but not for the door to close, so sometimes, when she wasn’t fast enough to get away from the bus, she could hear the first one to exclaim, “Poor Kira! Poor, poor Kira!”

She didn’t have to be there to know that all of them would repeat that. Even the kid, driving the bus, whose mom used to run away every month or two, because she wanted to live in the city, not in this “mud hole”, and used to leave her son with Kira, crying and apologizing every time before disappearing and then again after returning, even this kid, Kira knew, would mumble to himself, “Dear auntie, dear poor auntie Kira…”, while pressing the button to close the doors behind her.

sunlit vineyards –
I exchange hats
with a scarecrow

___
©Tzetzka Ilieva, 2016

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