Passengers

In the middle of the day I find myself on a train
The woman sitting beside me
She looks at me in the reflection on the glass opposite
And I can hear her voice
Here I will always be able to find you
There is an element of presence
About you, me, perhaps some of the others
Something like a scent, or perhaps a sensation similar to warmth
And she turns her head to face me directly
The train rocks back and forth
Citizens silent save for the odd deep exhale
A cough
The ruffling of newspaper
The buzzing of headphones
I turn to look at her
– Where is this exactly?
She blinks
— There’s not much to say.
Inhale
Exhale
— This is your thing.
With her eyebrows raising and lowering, the smallest of movements, as she says ‘your’
Her lips part
I examine the shape of her mouth
The point of her nose
The curvature to the points of her eyes
I turn to regard the carriage
Exhale
– The rest of it is adrift.
Moving from citizen to citizen
Watching them as they do what they do
As they do nothing
– Somewhere I’m still awake, and words are flowing from my mouth.
She shifts in her seat
Exhale from the nose
— I guess.
I return slowly to her
— I’m glad though.
Raise my eyebrows
— That you brought me.
The rocking of the train
Dull sounds of the metal wheels over the joins in the rails