Natalie Swanson
so i sat on the train at 4:42 p.m.
the sunset flames licking my flushed cheeks
and i remember how lovely it felt to be alive
to be able to count the passengers in and out
who were all heading home and with destination,
but i was out and i was so alone.
i want to be noticed but it also makes me
uncomfortable.
did they notice me?
was i remembered?
a selfish thought but the desire to be an
aura never disappears from me
maybe it’s not being alive that i enjoy
it’s the complexity of perhaps having too much
life in a vessel not fit.
sometimes i wonder if i’m the undead
but that’s just something that floods my head
i’m a schrödinger’s cat in the train
the minute i step out i am back to
nothing.
it’s 4:45 p.m.
someone brushes past my shoulder and doesn’t
even turn.
that’s how i know it to be true.