• Suzzanne Fairbank

crossing lines

He sits across from me today,

I saw his story last week as well,

only from a safer distance.

There is sadness in his eyes,

an emptiness in his stare.

Postured like a turtle

seeking safe retreat,

he offers a slight reassuring smile,

surely more for my benefit

than his pleasure.

He is half my age,

but youth is long gone.

The lines upon his face tell stories

most prefer not to hear.

I wish I knew what etched them there.

Are the scars that line his arms

a mere prologue to the deeper scars

that lie within?

Do the tattoos hide,

or scream

I am here,

or I am not?

I cannot know.

I sit quietly,

our reflections mirrored

as towns, and time, and life

pass us by.

He stares into nowhere,

or somewhere.

I close my eyes,

I caress his soul

I send him


I send him


I send him



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