Christmas Journey Poem by John Anderson

My greatcoat draped tightly on me, the last layer for the hibernal journey ahead.
I clicked off the lights, grabbed a book, tensed under my coats, and opened my door to the tundra.
Feet tragically pumping through virgin snow, which polka-dotted the evening sky above.
Blood pressure sounding in my ears as I trudged to the dark bench where I would wait.
And as I sat the cold air sat with me, forcing me from reading and cancelling all noise.

It finally came.
The hollow rectangular box silently braking to a stop where I would board.
Frosted cars framed a pathway to the door.
The driver of the empty bus smiled into my eyes, and seemed perplexed why I was there. Everyone needs someone, except him, he undoubtedly thought.

I sat down on a bench seat near the front. A rip releasing the couch's faded tan sponge sat with me.

Soon he pulled up to my stop, and with a professional smile firmly clanked open the bifold door for me to leave.
I plodded across the avenue and onto a carved sidewalk. Frozen cars, with sodden looks, lined the block and a half remaining. I walked the sidewalks passing animated living room windows illuminating the frosted bushes guarding them.

Christmas lights outlining porches and piercing the night's darkness.

My mother's house was in sight.

As I entered the front door the heat coated me as a nephew jumped into my arms.
Then it touched my soul.
I thought about my family, place, and purpose, and tucked my book away until another time.