The thirst of a dancer

Voyeuristic commuters
end our days with vignettes
from buildings crowded against the L.

On the Brown Line
one postage stamp window glows from the third floor,
three people visible through its wavy glass.
Two ponytailed men
look out toward my train
while behind them
a woman, left hand graceful on the barre,
turns her head,
lifts a bottle to dry lips,
and takes a long drink of water.

Though in separate space
our capsules nudge against
each other that moment,
and she quenches my thirst.

2 thoughts on “The thirst of a dancer

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