Eki (The Station) by Tamiko Dooley

I was sitting on the station platform when I saw you

You were standing in the last carriage of the train

Tozai line, heading eastwards

A newspaper in one hand, the other holding the strap

The ones I used to reach for where you would lift me up

Letting me dangle for a second, little legs kicking the air

When the train jolted and stopped at Otemachi station

I looked up from my book to check if it was my train

That’s when our eyes met

It was hard to tell if it was you at first

You smiled slowly and I recognised

The creases in your face that I see in the mirror today

It made sense to see you on your daily commute, only natural

The doors stayed open

A sudden breeze rushed across the platform between us

A deep breath and release

You nodded at me slowly

As if you were trying to tell me something

The whistle blew so loudly I dropped my bookmark

When I stooped to pick it up the train had started moving

I didn’t see you leave

I ran to catch up but the train

Was diminishing into the distance

That was when the stone in my chest began to lighten a little

When I knew it was time to open up and let go

Stop chasing, move forward

I was sitting on the platform

You were standing in the carriage

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Tamiko is a half-Japanese mother of two. She read Latin and French at New College, Oxford. When there's no pandemic, she's hired as a wedding pianist from time to time.