CONTACTS Comments

Do you see how I am
twisted, shrunken? Do you see this foot,
how I position it when I sit down?
This is all from the effort, over years,
not to knock into anyone. Cramped
against a seat, in a full bus,
to keep in place, avoid
even the slightest
touch of anyone next to me.

On the benches of the waiting rooms
or on the train, in the corridor, it was distressing
all the time to feel the dark
of my knee brushing against
the dark of theirs.

For hours and hours, for whole days
we were beside each other like
the flavours of ice cream
in the station bar.

Of truth and justice between us,
that space, the space of two fingers,
was what remained.
...
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