The Conjuring
He sat alone, inside his own bubble of quiet,
indifferent to the scurrying sounds, the muted bustle
of people huddled around their departure gates.
I thought him rather overdressed for the weather
looking busy with something I couldn't see what,
reminding me of a madman who couldn't
remember his own fantasies,
Watching him idly felt like invading his privacy
but I had nothing else to do or too bored to walk away.
I could think of a thousand rationalizations
why I continued to do nothing
but watch him with my eyes closed,
forcing myself to appear unconcerned.
If someone was watching me, I must have
seemed conspicuous in my concentration
perhaps emanating an air of mystery.
I would not expect this observer, if any,
to know I was trying to unveil the stranger in my mind
like a conjurer on stage.
Because I was watching him without seeming
to be obvious about it, I felt
everyone else was watching me too.
I open my eyes surreptitiously so as to catch
someone who might be watching me too.
But no, everyone was merely absorbed and lost
in their own worlds, waiting for the call to board a plane.
I was safe, drifting into mystic time, immobile but alert,
hiding in my own capsule, in plain sight.
@jjote 08152015
Copyright © Josefina Costales | Year Posted 2015
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