Unintentionally Hugging Strangers
三島和希
Kazuki Mishima

There is
an unexpected brightness in the slantways sunlight
hitting the bricks of the buildings
that are smaller here.

There is
an uninvited darkness in the streams of observation
coursing through my mind or stomach
as I read the prices on the café menu.
(It's not really that they seem high;
it's that everything is quantified,
but the middle-aged woman at the next table
doesn't seem to mind,
judging by the beautiful smile she wears
as she chats familiarly with us strangers.)

I could say “My uncle lived somewhere near here” again,
but I said that already and
everything is quantified and
it doesn't matter as much as I want it to
because that was some time ago.

I would talk
with any of these three alone,
but somehow together they are hard to approach.
I ask them where all the communes went
because even the Cloisters charges admission
despite my Medieval fantasies,
and I've seen the pushers in the park.

We swipe our MetroCards again,
spending $2.25 with a flick of the flick of a wrist,
and listen to the silent flow of money
through the turnstiles as
we rush for a crowded 6.

On the 6, we are all very close -
touching, in fact -
but I dare not look into anybody's eyes
and everybody pretends they're not
unintentionally hugging strangers.