There is a power in watching, noticing, and remembering.
On the subway, I sit, I see a woman
wearing the exact same shoes as me.
I hold our connection with
recognition of this intimacy,
one that only I can see.
She got off the train,
but I see her still.
I’m not certain when I’ll stop seeing her;
I don’t think it’s necessary.
I collect thoughts, things, people;
they morph into me.
There is nothing more human than waiting.
What separates waiting from remembering?
And what separates me from action, doing, being?
How can I be someone without doing something?
It is not the shoes, nor the wearer.
I am grounded in connection,
but to something simpler than the object.
I objectify
connection and place value
into the thoughts I manufacture.
We think we need connection.
Yet thoughts seek and find me regardless.
I feed off it, I write off it.
I will not be as you say I should,
I cannot as you say I should be.
Therefore, I know I see.
I see, therefore I know.
Sometimes, we never arrive,
we never materialise,
but there is merit in the minute.
Should I revolt when asked?
Revolt then I never have.
Yet the verity of life is
divorced from the most respected
forms of action.
Remember me as I am, for every
inch I bring. Let not my hesitations
paint me lethargic.
For each time I rise—I see anew.
Those who watch, notice, and remember
are privy to knowing.
We are privy to the woman
with the blue Reebok shoes.
We are privy to the idea of it all.
One day, I may stand up taller,
but let me not be misremembered,
as I have always risen.
