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The Subway
Will I ever become one
of them?She sits and knits without raising her head, Can she sense by the length of her knitting When her next stop will be? Does five inches of knitting equal her stop? He sleeps soundly like a horse, His head upright, his hands on his lap. Clenching a shopping bag. Is there an alarm inside his bag? She stares straight ahead Like a robot in space. Do I hear a silent ummmmm Meditating her next stop? How can they be so relaxed? He sits, his back straight and stiff. Ah, is this his first ride, too? Naah, he's guarding his Amani shopping bag. Among the likes of us. A man jumps on board, and asks “Does this take you to J street? What an adventurer, I envy him. Three young men sing the gospel Passing their hats around. I sit there, my lst subway ride. Odette, Setsâ caregiver sits across me To accompany me to Brooklyn With three transfers. I watch her like a hawk but the crowd soon becomes a wall between us both. I can't lose sight of her, I panic. I must get to Brooklyn. Ah, I see her shoes between pairs And pairs of legs. My safety net, Those tired worn out shoes. Relax, observe, learn. I pretend I'm a native New Yorker Who's quite capable of knitting Or snoring before my stop. I listen to "next stop" But they sound like voices At airports, all muffled and dumb. I keep my eyes on her shoes. When they move, I move. When they stand, I stand. Shoes are walking. She motions me toward the door. I elbow my way like a New Yorker. We rush like short distance runners To the next train. -
Frances H. Kakugawa
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