Waiting for the light at Ebisu Station

saturday morning
{Listen to the soundtrack for this poem.}

Waiting for the light at Ebisu Station
listening to Gregory Porter
on my headphones
and across the intersection
on the other side
of the white-striped concrete sea
stands an eight-year old girl
in a red coat
and her mother
classic in caramel
and they are laughing
and the sun is shining
like apple cider
and it’s cold
end-of-February cold
the kind of Tokyo cold
that says,
“Hey, you! Isn’t it great to be alive?”
and I wish I had my phone out
to take a portrait of the sun
as it brushes the girl’s
hair
blue-black
as she turns towards her mother
and I think how lucky I am
how lucky we are
to be here
in this moment
overwhelmed by the sun
Gregory Porter
the freshness of the morning
when a woman on a green bicycle
a bike too big for her
speeds by
blowing up my hair
like a bomb
missing me by centimetres
missing the girl in the red coat
by a distance too small
to measure,
missing her by a thought
and the girl looks up
surprised
in the direction
from which the cyclist came,
she looks at me
where I am standing
stopped
and we look at each other.

Oh!
 

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