The Stop

The bus stopped short

and he fell.

For a moment we all froze,

caught in the spell

of pretending we didn't see,

all choosing to be

the kind of people who don't help.

Then I stood up.

I don't know what code

I broke, but I did,

and I put out my hand

and his hand

met mine.

Our eyes met.

I could see the shame

in his face, the blame

he was putting on himself

for falling,

for needing,

for being seen.

The fluorescent light

above his head was bright.

The other passengers turned away.

I got off at my stop that day

and I've been thinking about him,

about that moment in the dim

fluorescent glow,

when something shifted,

when I understood

that we're all just

one stop away

from falling,

all just waiting

for someone to catch us

or leave us

on the floor.