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Nikita Imafidon

From the Window Seat

The seams in the seat
Lead through the rows
As if the threads were
connected
I watch it move

Past the woman
Weighed down by produce
In a reusable tote

Past friends catching up
Their voices occasionally
slipping past my earbuds

Past criers and liars
Past the flowers someone bought her
Past phone backgrounds of daughters

Different and together
along for the ride

Past my denim bag sinking
Into the contours of the seat
as if clutching this liminal space
And finding a moment of comfort
A breath within a necessity