You drift in

In a training last week, we were asked to write a story about courage. Of course, I wrote a poem...

You drift in 

and sit too close 

to my skin. I cringe. You

look nothing like me. We 

can't be friends. But 

then you speak 

and I begin 

to wonder 

about the power 

we share. Your space 

feels less foreign, 

your tears are more clear. 

I listen, with my hand 

on my chin 

to the breaks in your speech. 

I watch 

the hairs on your arm 

rise from bumped skin. 

You feel what I feel. 

We are the same. 

We don't share a life, 

but we do share the game.