Traveling at more than 65 miles
an hour, the bus runs
somewhere
between Here and There.
The people mover growls. Time
and place, too. I know
neither where we travel
to nor from.
My seat one of the few
available. Tired,
thin threads of navy, brown,
and grey. My body also tired.
Too much Life.
Everyone around me sleeps
or stares. Consuming what we’re fed.
Always hungry. The Greyhound, too.
I would have preferred Peter
Pan. Tinker Bell always
a childhood favorite.
Peter never showed.
My neighbor
snores. His breath
smells
of a tuna fish
and bacon sandwich, wrapped in tin
foil. Devoured as the bus
left the terminal.
The sandwich was for his sister,
also terminal. They visited
in the hospital. Her papers
said no mayonnaise.
Not even Hellman’s.
Between chews he confessed
he was vegetarian,
for the most part. I nodded.
Confessions always
relative. Thought of my own
friends and foe. From dairy
to gluten to carbs. Caffeine
and alcohol, too.
Almost nothing
left to moderate.
He’s heading home,
while I flee. Home
both sought and sacrificed.
Still unsure of my stop.
Maybe the end of the line.
Where the turnpike meets
the ocean. Swim with big fish
and cry over plastics.
A giant sea turtle, rescued
just yesterday.
Found with a plastic straw
in its nose.
We all crave rescue,
often too late. The Greyhound roars,
pushing 70 MPH.
Time moves faster. My head bobs.
Like the rabbit in Alice
and Wonderland. A dusty windowpane
captures my reflection
through the looking glass.
Stephen King has said the road
to hell is paved with adverbs, but he never said
that’s all. Big white coaches race past. My feet
ache. I’d remove my Converse high tops,
laced tight. I forgot to pack extra socks.
I gaze out the window.
Headlights cast a glow that hides
reality’s exterior. Still moments that linger
between the cracks. I see the deer. Roadside. A tear
drops and I wonder about its babies.
Watching internal clocks. Mortal, like us all.
Author Bio:
Jen Schneider is an educator, attorney, and writer. She lives, writes, and works in small spaces throughout Philadelphia. She believes that everyone has a story and that all stories deserve to be shared. Her writing seeks to open space, voice, and heart with a goal of deeper understanding of both self and story. Her work is both implicitly and explicitly intersectionally feminist in that her writing embodies daily experiences and interactions which reflect the fundamentally different and complex ways individuals live within, under, and through deeply entrenched systems. Her pieces create space for voice and variations in experiences that are inextricably intertwined with multiple identities and seek to capture the value inherent in those moments, often fleeting, where memory crystallizes in ways that yield new learning, heightened awareness, and deeper understanding of self and others. Choice of form is varied, with a goal of resisting categorizations as a matter of form or otherwise. Recent work appears in The Popular Culture Studies Journal, Toho Journal, The New Verse News, Zingara Poetry Review, Streetlight Magazine, Chaleur Magazine, LSE Review of Books, and other literary and scholarly journals.
an hour, the bus runs
somewhere
between Here and There.
The people mover growls. Time
and place, too. I know
neither where we travel
to nor from.
My seat one of the few
available. Tired,
thin threads of navy, brown,
and grey. My body also tired.
Too much Life.
Everyone around me sleeps
or stares. Consuming what we’re fed.
Always hungry. The Greyhound, too.
I would have preferred Peter
Pan. Tinker Bell always
a childhood favorite.
Peter never showed.
My neighbor
snores. His breath
smells
of a tuna fish
and bacon sandwich, wrapped in tin
foil. Devoured as the bus
left the terminal.
The sandwich was for his sister,
also terminal. They visited
in the hospital. Her papers
said no mayonnaise.
Not even Hellman’s.
Between chews he confessed
he was vegetarian,
for the most part. I nodded.
Confessions always
relative. Thought of my own
friends and foe. From dairy
to gluten to carbs. Caffeine
and alcohol, too.
Almost nothing
left to moderate.
He’s heading home,
while I flee. Home
both sought and sacrificed.
Still unsure of my stop.
Maybe the end of the line.
Where the turnpike meets
the ocean. Swim with big fish
and cry over plastics.
A giant sea turtle, rescued
just yesterday.
Found with a plastic straw
in its nose.
We all crave rescue,
often too late. The Greyhound roars,
pushing 70 MPH.
Time moves faster. My head bobs.
Like the rabbit in Alice
and Wonderland. A dusty windowpane
captures my reflection
through the looking glass.
Stephen King has said the road
to hell is paved with adverbs, but he never said
that’s all. Big white coaches race past. My feet
ache. I’d remove my Converse high tops,
laced tight. I forgot to pack extra socks.
I gaze out the window.
Headlights cast a glow that hides
reality’s exterior. Still moments that linger
between the cracks. I see the deer. Roadside. A tear
drops and I wonder about its babies.
Watching internal clocks. Mortal, like us all.
Author Bio:
Jen Schneider is an educator, attorney, and writer. She lives, writes, and works in small spaces throughout Philadelphia. She believes that everyone has a story and that all stories deserve to be shared. Her writing seeks to open space, voice, and heart with a goal of deeper understanding of both self and story. Her work is both implicitly and explicitly intersectionally feminist in that her writing embodies daily experiences and interactions which reflect the fundamentally different and complex ways individuals live within, under, and through deeply entrenched systems. Her pieces create space for voice and variations in experiences that are inextricably intertwined with multiple identities and seek to capture the value inherent in those moments, often fleeting, where memory crystallizes in ways that yield new learning, heightened awareness, and deeper understanding of self and others. Choice of form is varied, with a goal of resisting categorizations as a matter of form or otherwise. Recent work appears in The Popular Culture Studies Journal, Toho Journal, The New Verse News, Zingara Poetry Review, Streetlight Magazine, Chaleur Magazine, LSE Review of Books, and other literary and scholarly journals.
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