There’s something to be said for quiet greetings,
the slight nod of a chin
or prayerful murmurs of acknowledgement
eyebrows sprouting upward as if surprised that
I see you.
You see me.
I am also here on this planet
in this space
in this moment
lungs inflating with the same air
heart plodding onward
through yet another Monday filled with
too much cologne
that relative on Facebook who just won’t shut up
a copier out of paper
far-right conspiracy theories
a cold making the rounds
the silhouette of breakfast staining the crotch
that news story about the guy who did that thing
(or is that a hickey on your neck?)
panic-inducing news alerts
actual dirty laundry
(how did cat hair get inside my sock?)
the prison-industrial complex
and all other anxieties of late-stage capitalism.
Do you hear that?
The quick flutter of eyelashes as we awkwardly pass?
It’s the sigh of strangers
slipping silently into awareness,
unsure how to react on the surface,
yet comforted that no matter what happens
at least there’s somebody else here.
At least we’re not alone.
Copyright © 2018 Andrew Johnson | @WriterAndrew