She's sitting on a bench
4 October 2022
writing a poem, and he sees her from his window, curious,
he makes his way outside, she doesn’t notice until he’s right
next to her, saying quietly ‘hi’, she says ‘hi’ back to the
stranger, he asks whether she’s alright and she tells him
how she loves to see the city at night, his English is broken so
sometimes she can barely understand, he’s from Columbia,
he’s 28, she’s 19, he talks about the history of his country, about
Columbus and how the Spanish took all the gold, and asks
for a history of hers, she, too, is talking about men’s crimes
against humanity, he blinks at her, in a haze, as she speaks,
she smiles and laughs, politely, she can see that he will not
easily let her go, he talks about his life back in Columbia,
how growing cocaine plants is an ordinary job to his people,
she marvels at the difference in their lives, until he says he
likes her hair, her eyes, her chin, he asks about her sexuality,
she says she has a boyfriend even though it’s not true, she
freezes at his touch on her arm, she’s standing up
I need to go, he asks for a few more minutes, no, for her number,
no, she repeats, no, like a mantra, he gets up next to her, walks
with her, a few metres, she regrets talking to him, then he says
good night, kisses her hand, he leaves, she’s relieved, but she
thinks if she had been anything but a young woman
she could have had an open conversation with this stranger
on a park bench about his life on the other side of the earth,
and oh all the things they both could have learned.