Transition

Who were you trying

to be? I could never figure

it out; or how how long it had been,

or what had

made you change

But now I stand in frumpy

jeans and thin soled sneakers

On the cracked sidewalk, the fog thickening

Nothing visible

But a gritty shoelace, two zipper pulls

a bright red umbrella

and a tattered yellow legal pad

with scrawling cursive

revealing a life.

Provisions

What should we have taken
with us? We never could decide
on that; or what to wear,
or at what time of
year we should make the journey

So here we are in thin
raincoats and rubber boots

On the disastrous ice, the wind rising

Nothing in our pockets

But a pencil stub, two oranges
Four Toronto streetcar tickets

and an elastic band holding a bundle
of small white filing cards
printed with important facts.

Margaret Atwood