Voices Not Meant for Me

I caught a half-phrase, frantic and raw,

"I swear, it was right here—"

words spilled between clinking cups,

a desperate hunt for lost keys and missed trains.

The chipped ceramic mug blocks the sound

but not the urgency threading through it,

raw edges of anger and worry

cutting through my quiet lunch.

The strangers’ chaos settles in my ears,

a story tangled in crumbs and faded lipstick,

fragments of lives I’m not invited to hold,

yet somehow carry home anyway.