In the Used To Time
November 10, 2021
There was a guy who’d sing
his way to work, walking on the path
I’d bike down,
and he’d sing
at the top of his lungs, and
sometimes he’d close his eyes
and sometimes he’d throw his arms up
and sometimes he’d do a little sway and snap
of the fingers and the string bag
on his back
would sway the other way.
I’d slow down to catch
a whiff of his high notes
the wiggle of his hips
this tiny universe
of ordinary joy
made bigger on days
when I couldn’t locate my own.
Where is he now
in this time of pause
this stuck silence,
this used to
this time when we don’t have voices
to question our lack of voices
this time when we look at our hands
like they’re victims?