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Service AlertsHoliday ART & STAR service on Jan. 18 and 20: Holiday service for ART and STAR on Monday, January 18 and Wednesday, January 20. More details: View all ART Alerts

Service AlertsART 41, 42, 43, 45, 51, 52, 55, 75, 77, 84 and 87 Operating Regular Service: ART 72 is operating a modified weekday schedule. ART 53, 61, 62 and 74 are not operating. Face masks are required on all ART buses. Learn more: View all ART Alerts

Service AlertsART Buses Resume Fare Collection and Front Door Boarding on January 3: All Arlington Transit - ART buses will resume front door boarding and fare collection starting on Sunday, January 3, 2021. Riders will board buses through the front door and will pay their fare at the fare box using a SmarTrip card, exact change or the SmarTrip app downloaded on an iPhone. Metrobuses will also resume front door boarding and fare collection on January 3. All passengers are required to wear a face mask and asked to social distance onboard the buses and at bus stops. For more information visit View all ART Alerts

Moving Words 2004 Poems

Out for a Walk

My feet are as two horses
arching and stretching in the soft restraint
of the sandals, impatient, ardent for any road,
for brown dust or hard clatter
of asphalt. Out go the feet, flexing,
dragging the rangy bones, the parchment
skin, the slack belly and the clenched jaw -
hating the load until they feel
the keen heart and its bright red traces.

Wells Burgess

Autumn in Arlington Hospital

I missed the leaves falling this year.
I raked the blue mums in my curtains,
kicked my feet free to catch the chill.
The told me, the moon hung heavy
along the horizon across the hall.
I never saw the sun thin into December.
I studied the yellow wallpaper,
bordered with pink embryos.
As the year let go of its color, I held onto you,
and took solace in the shadow of a V swooping south.

Lisa Hurwitz


It arrives as a train might,
bursting forth
from some unknown place,
rush of car after car.
You are struck still,
feeling the whistle
blow through you
as your hair whips before your eyes,
adrenaline hissing through your veins.

Michelle Mandolia


A cat's silence is pervasive as incense as it sits
after dinner by the back door. Soon, a human
is impelled to open the door, hold it wide
while the cat yawns, sniffs the night and decides
he will take a stroll since the door is open,
sure the world and we will wait for his walking.
After dark, we too place ourselves by a door
and go confidently out into sleep with the same
careless assumption: our housing will let us back in
on our return, that the world we know waits for our waking.

Hilary Tham


he writes
his name
on every
strand of
her hair
and then

Bernadette Geyer


I need her the way
gravel shoulders need roads, and clouds
a bit of blue to back them.

Each hour she's gone is a year
without a New Year's party, an eon
without dinosaurs or kings. When she gets back

we'll bake a cake as big as the world and spend
eternity in the icing.

M. A. Schaffner