Words left unsettled

I said it fast, sharp against the hum

of the subway—"We carry more than our bags."

Her eyes didn’t flicker, just stared ahead,

as if those words had dropped in her lap

like a stone too heavy to throw back.

The mouth half-open, caught mid-phrase,

a pale blur reflected in the window glass,

I wonder now what she heard beneath the clatter.

Did she hold the weight like I did,

a pulse thudding in my chest,

the echo of a line that wouldn’t soften,

that keeps tapping its restless rhythm,

like rain on cracked concrete,

demanding something I can’t give?