Have you ever seen a man leaning into the railing on the train?
Knees purple, skin pale.
Ankles crooked, with dark green veins.
Black fingernails gripping the yellow metal.
Carrying trash bags so heavy they slant his posture.
Eyes red and bulging from his head,
inside he’s kneeling on the ground, praying the guy behind us will beat him to death.
With every stop, he sways with the movement of the train.
In his eyes, only the depth of the pit of the ocean is visible.
I wanted to check in,
but how do you ask this stranger how they’re doing?
How can you ask a stranger how they’re doing
when their pain is the strength their carrying—
to the point they must lean?
How can you ask a stranger when everyone around him is laughing,
on their phones, or staring in shock?
He doesn’t see the people who watch with care,
who wish they could help but can’t.
He doesn’t hear them praying over him in their heads,
because they don’t want to make a scene or put themselves at risk.
How can you ask a stranger if they need help
in…
