Metro

Walking to school again.

Snow nestled in pine trees and

glitter dusting the icy streets,

my hands in pockets

and eyes on feet

as I walk, in silence, with the other teachers.

These are the people I live with

eat with

sleep with

breathe with.

They're always there

and still,

I am alone.

Sitting on the metro,

my hands in pockets

and eyes on feet,

the floor rocks back and forth as

I glance up at the stranger sitting

across from me.

A lovely Russian hat

decorates his Russian haircut and

frames his Russian scowl.

I glance to the left at a fellow teacher

standing and holding a metro pole

for balance; a lovely Russian hat decorates her

American haircut and frames her attempt

to frown like they do.

We try to blend in,

to to speak,

live, look as Russians do.

They always surround us, yet

we have never been more

alone.