A woman of thirty,
maybe mid-thirties,
chubby, pale, brown-haired,
got on the bus in Arlington
on the coldest day in March
wearing crocs out of which
her heels, without socks,
spoke, in red language,
of tiredness and pain.

A wayward fringe of hair,
lately pestered by icy wind,
teased her right eyebrow.
Why didn’t she wear a hat?
She eased herself slowly
(weighed down both with care
and a cumbrous winter coat)
into a seat toward the back.
It was palpable, her relief.