Passenger Portraits by Katja Treadwell

In the sweltering heat or chill of wind—I sit

In my vinyl seat, knees knock the aisle

Cushioned between the rattling vent

And greedy legs spread—swaying

While the D96 to Potomac Park

Lurched forward, brakes hissing,

Forged its path in potholes and pedestrians.

Among bouncing wheels or dusty seats—I sketch

The old woman, a beaded necklace

Banging against her chest—reminded me of Nana’s lost memory,

The tired man, a bulging backpack

Pressed against his chest—wore a story much like Dad’s,

While graphite jerking against paper

Counted down the stops until mine.

From the sweltering heat or chill of wind—I skid

Off my vinyl seat, utter goodbye to the rattling vent

Sneakers rub against the foamy floors

And I snap my sketchbook shut—passenger portraits greeting

The world at street-level because,

While the D96 waits for another day,

My sketches and their stories are infinite.