Rosa
How she sat there,
the time right inside a place
so wrong it was ready.
the time right inside a place
so wrong it was ready.
That trim name with
its dream of a bench
to rest on. Her sensible coat.
Doing nothing was the doing:
the clean flame of her gaze
carved by a camera flash.
How she stood up
when they bent down to retrieve
her purse. That courtesy.
--Rita Dove from her book of poetry On the Bus with Rosa Parks
