#Tokyo

On the Yamanote Line, 11 p.m., I count

the stations by their sound—

Yūrakuchō, Shimbashi, Hamamatsuchō—

The train announcements switch languages at Shinjuku—

tsugi wa, next station, tsugi wa—

and I am fluent in neither arrival nor departure,

The train announcement says tsugi wa Shibuya

and I know which body to become—

the one that doesn't apologize for existing in doorways,

in the kitchen at 2 a.m.

peeling an apple in one long spiral

the way my grandmother showed me

the light stays on in the apartment across from mine

every night until 3 a.m.

I don't know who lives there

I wake to the alarm's soft glow—

another mouth opening

to swallow the quiet.

morning walk through Shibuya—

nobody sees me except

the 7-Eleven clerk

the moon is stuck between buildings again

refusing to be metaphor

just stuck

I stop at the crossing near Shibuya Station,

earbuds in, waiting for the light to change.

A woman beside me checks her phone,

under the fluorescent hum of 7-Eleven at 3am

I buy an onigiri and wonder

if loneliness tastes the same