on the bus

when i get on buses, i keep my eyes to myself
i glance around a few times, just to see who's there
loud black girl on the phone
old chinese woman with the pink plastic bags of groceries
middle aged chicana trying to hide the bruise on her leg
but my eyes never linger
i never rest my gaze long enough to see who these people are
i make quick judgements
assess the safety or danger
notice the faces and where they're looking
notice hands and what they hold
and smell the stench of urine
and BO
and then
and then a new passenger gets on
all set their eyes on her
she's blind
the man with the nice shoes in front gives her a seat
thank you and she sits
folding up her white and red stick
placing it in her lap
my eyes stay transfixed
she is not pretty
not by any means
she is not interesting to look at
but still i stare
i get to know her better than the others
i read her story written across her blank eyes
parents dead
no husband
no kids
small, unassuming home in oakland
vegetarian
listens to trance and classical guitar
black shoes
brown socks
red sweater
blue jeans
white shirt
she's the first that i can really look at
the only one that i can really see
but only because she cannot see me