Boundaries Unseen

On the subway, the shoulder grazed

like cold metal on bare skin,

a quick retreat, silent alarm.

I gripped the chipped pole, paint worn thin,

a lifeline in the press of bodies,

separated by invisible lines.

The stranger’s hand a shadow crossing,

an unmarked border I never drew.

Air tight, held sharp against my ribs,

a space I couldn’t explain,

but needed, fierce, unyielding.

No words, no warning—just the sharp

edge of a moment folded inward,

where skin refused to meet skin.