it’s quiet for a Monday morning
but the city streets still bustle with life and purpose
a gentle breeze touseled my hair
I take one last look at the sky– 
the way my grandmother used to instruct me before heading underground–
and descend the subway stairs
 
 
the downtown F is running on time
or so the illuminated sign says
an uptown train arrives on the platform behind me
the doors open with a tired thud,
already exhausted before the rush begins
and people spill onto the platform
 
I don’t hear pontificators’ earnest declarations
I don’t hear children’s cries
I don’t hear teenage bursts of laughter
I don’t hear “IT’S SHOW TIME!” –nah, it’s too early for that
 
and when I turned to watch the train pull from the platform
I saw a man dressed too plain for work
too clean to be from here
too distinct to be anything more than an ordinary stranger
 
 
he was the only passsenger left in the car
he sat in silent contemplation
stony fluorescence surrounded him like a halo of Uncreated Light
 
I furrowed my brow in curiosity and threw him the classic New York chin nod
a sign of respect 
he covered his heart with one hand
and lifted three fingers on the other
 
I stifled a silent laugh,
I smirked and gave him a wink with my oculus sinister
to let him know, I know…
and that I am not and cannot ever be fully pure or sure
he closed his eyes and nodded in understanding
 
 
 
stand clear of the closing doors, please
 
**bee boo**
 
 
 
the train doors close
and he glides away smoother than steps on water’s surface
 
 
I turn and face the dirty tile wall
I lean too close to the platform’s edge and peek into the tunnel
I search the darkness
I watch for the light, a sign that the train approaches
I want to know when mine will come 
I wait to be a passenger