On the Bus
I wait to get home.
The bus keeps on its route.
Shadow buildings bow in the rain.
The driver recites in staccato
names of streets, names of people,
years of passengers’ births and deaths.
Each street grows its people.
They ripen and wait to be picked up.
I fear that future in which I live
less than I die. Beyond the window
hide what they carry in their wombs.
Originally from Chisinau, Moldova, Romana Iorga lives in Switzerland. She is the author of two poetry collections in Romanian, Poem of Arrival and Simple Hearing. Her work in English has appeared or is forthcoming in Harpur Palate, Stoneboat, The Normal School, Cagibi, Washington Square Review, PANK, and others, as well as on her poetry blog at clayandbranches.com.