An Encounter

The door slams. The voice announces In the direction of travel
the woman falls 
everyone left reaching out a hand
stare at her, stare at the floor, at each other. 
Hands left out in air, she picks herself up.
Train stops.
Doors open.
Left, open handed, waiting on another
gesture to answer the void. 
We turn back to empty space and stare.
The Red Line is no place for dreaming,
but it is so rare to see anyone awake.