Backseat


The city sleeps in its hazy blanket.

Under the snow-capped mountains,

The cherry blossoms flutter. Their fuchsia wings

Descend onto the shoulders

Of hectic passersby, boots inked with mud

To catch the nearest bus.

The windows reflect the matchbox houses

That fling away with the spring breeze.

Back seat, nestled among the bulk backpacks,

I open my book. A flip

Breaks the silence of the bus

As it travels uphill

and down to the misty ocean

that undulates along the dog-eared pages,

where the primly printed lines unfold

the stories that have never been told

before the spring days of Vancouver.


Thumbnail image: Cherry blossoms in Richmond, taken on one of the rare sunny days.

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