Mahnoor

For two years we sat four seats apart on the 6:40, and I knew the way you held a book open with one thumb, and the way you looked up at the hills each time the bus came round the last bend, as if checking they were still there. I never said a word. I thought there would always be tomorrow's bus. Then one morning there wasn't you. If you are reading this somewhere far away: the hills are still there. I check for both of us.