The streets seem more inviting
with headphones in and sunglasses on
Outdoor seating brings air
to my soul and my thoughts
Reading in the metro
takes me from dark tunnels
to beaten mining towns
and sunny river banks
My backpack stays back
the grip on my purse loosens

Strangers at a café grow
uncomfortable with my comfort
Are you from here?
No, I’m not.
Put the phone in your purse,
your purse on your lap

Grip it, joven. Careful, joven.
Acts of love can sting you humble
of care slap you conscious

Maybe the streets don’t need
to invite me Maybe staying
present in dark tunnels
keeps me safer Maybe
their inexplicit message
is comfort is the risk.