Poem March 8, 2004 Issue

Evening light

Bettie Gray

I dismiss myself, spent
from my cubicled day
while the winter sky folds
into layers pink and gray
settling down
for the night.

The train station door
opens for me,
held by a woman
with the face of gladness itself,
as if she had been
awakened at dawn
by God whispering the whereabouts
of the doorway
she was to grace at evening
to greet the weary
with her smile
like a blessing
like a silent prayer
to awaken those of us
who still believe in end of day,
to hint
with a mere sparkling
of her eyes
that the abundant dark
that winter brings
is
of course
the perfect backdrop
for gentle lights.