the bodies here
speak
different languages.
they dress differently.
they look so very
much the same
and so altogether
different.
on the airplane the clouds
cleared in time to offer
view of the whole
city, its
skyward growths of
downtown, its
regimented sprawl
stuttering out
all the way to the
water.
it all looks
small. it
all looks large.
i feel
average sized
in an economy
airplane seat.
not a
spacious seat,
reserved for those who
inhabit a different class
than i, but
not cramped,
either.
i am average and
not at all.
in the “affordable”
seats which are not at all
affordable.
back on the ground i sit
sipping decaffeinated coffee
across from a shop offering
cellular communication services.
bodies in vehicles and
bodies under self-propulsion,
are everywhere.
bodies who make home of
the street.
the cardboard box.
the awning.
right there with
bodies driving vehicles costing
more money than i’ll make in
many years.
it all looks so
small.
a body sits
in front of me
on the train that takes me
from airport
to city center.
close cut black hair,
the pale scalp visible
underneath.
a single white hair,
maybe it’s silver,
stands out
amidst its lavish black surroundings.
i shift in my seat,
look out at the graffiti,
look in on feeling
just the same
as i did, on
different trains,
in a different city,
nearly thirty years ago.
back when i was
average sized.
back when everything felt
large and
impossible.
i look at bodies walk by,
some
are beautiful.
some are
catastrophic.
i feel tiny inside
this life.
zakschafer.com 