The Crossing.

Shibuya

I hear the street campaign of a local politician as I exit the station,
the tinkly sound of a tambourine drawing my eyes to the soapbox -
a middle aged man in neon blue gym shorts serenading a crowd
of could-be supporters.

Meeting eyes with Hachiko, who patiently endures the daily spectacles
from his stone pedestal, we remind each other of the important things
and shoulder our judgment of trivial matters in favor of loyalty,
and in favor of love.

Slipping through the small congregation with a wary smile,
I narrowly miss the outstretched arms of the blind hired hands
full of paper backed fans that seem to draw away on sight -
I can't vote here.

The intersection calls me - all light and sound, all electric life.
Here, I am one of many. Here I am blond, and white, and still invisible.

The sidewalk begins to swell like a wave offshore, building strength -
the people waiting to rush the street the moment a light changes.
I sway with them, dizzy and drowning in the sound of a thousand souls
suspended together.

Red to green.
We all wait for the change that we know is coming.

And we are moved together. The will to go, to cross,
to conquer this concrete moment in time pushes us forward.
Shouldered against one another into the opposite current,
we fight upstream until -

at last, we hit land. Exhilarated, breathless, triumphant - I look back,
there is a new mass already gathering in our wake, patiently waiting
for a sudden change to move them. Here, the struggle is lonely -
but never alone.

af 2010

This is set in Shibuya Crossing - quite possibly the busiest intersection in the world, and it's famous for being thus.  Originally, I was just writing about Shibuya - but I think something a bit deeper surfaced as I was writing.  


Until next time!