"Extraordinarily Ordinary Woman" a poem by Jess Coffman

So...I am truly getting adjusted to New York and learning to appreciate it, for it's differences. The thriving mass transit system in NYC is truly remarkable and unlike anything I have ever experienced before. Being from L.A., the few cars I've had in my life were always like a second home. I pretty much got all of my phone calls done while sitting in traffic, I could change my entire outfit (including undies) safely on the freeway and was definitely able to count on solitude while traveling in my car. These days, none of those things are possible, though I did sneakily change into my work clothes one morning in an almost completely empty subway car.

I definitely cannot get phone calls out of the way, because there is no cell reception underground, and there is absolutely no solitude. Surprisingly, it is usually really quiet on my hour long morning ride, but you can definitely count on touching shoulders, thighs and sometimes knees with multiple strangers within that time. I usually don't like my personal space invaded, and having that as a daily part of  life here, was really off-putting at first. But over the past few weeks, I have gotten an amazing amount of reading done on my morning commute, which is an accomplishment that has never been possible before. It is definitely a unique perk to not being personally responsible for transporting oneself.

A few mornings ago, I decided to take out my journal and look over "tiny white feather free." At that point, I hadn't written at on the train, but that was all about to change. I reached down to zip up my over-pocketed Jansport backpack, and found myself oddly smiling at this woman's feet. I know that sounds weird. She was wearing these sensible red wedges with bright green polish on her toes, and for some totally unknown reason, I was completely creatively turned on by her. She was exactly the title of this poem "extraordinarily ordinary." She had accents of color and a certain kind of beauty in her own way, but she certainly wasn't catching anyone else' eye that morning. I totally started sneakily writing about her. Then she sat down millimeters from me which was absolutely nerve wracking. I didn't want her to accidentally read it, totally misunderstand my intentions and get creeped out by me. But I also selfishly didn't want my creative vibe to be interrupted by her discomfort either.

Luckily, she played "Words With Friends" for about 100 blocks and had no idea that I was creatively creeping on her. After I wrote this poem, I began to look at people on the subway in a completely different way. The experience made me feel much more empathic to all of my fellow riders. I have begun to see them as beautiful possibilities for inspiration instead of annoyances. Now I ride the subway, excited that the lady I'm sharing shoulders with, might inspire me to write something that brings me personal fulfillment.  

Extraordinarily Ordinary Woman
 
Granny Smith apple toes,
Sandals red as candied Rose.
Glasses wrap around her eyes,
Undone hair, curls as it dries.

Whitest leg and freckled hand,
"Words With Friends," no wedding band.
Understated colors mesh,
Handmade earrings, lipstick fresh.

Curvy early morning peer,
Riding in the 1 train's rear,
A nameless muse right by my side,
Who changed an ordinary ride. 

JESS COFFMAN