Subway Song

Sparsely filled subway seats on a Tuesday morning.
An impromtu chorus forms and creates a simple song.
Riders barely notice the swells and solos, rippling sweetly down.

First, on my right, apart, she sings a bouyant note or two.
A descant to an inner song, smiling when I look up.
Ripples of colorful stitches slide from her needles, flowing gently down.

Further down the car, his back to me, he plays the harmonica.
A short, sweet song, reminding me of Granddad.
Soft-sounds float by as the train glides on its track, coasting smoothly down.

Sitting alone, a reread book in my lap, words fill my eyes.

A song of a stone clasped tight, heartache slipping under the surface.
Salty streams of text and tears slowly flood their banks, slipping swiftly down.

The man, the knitter, the dying woman and I, ride along.
A harmony of notes and stitches and once forgotten words.
We are all traveling quietly down, this quartet.
Traveling down, down, down.