The Brink Between Us

Sitting in a busy café,
the music far too loud,
someone’s singing happy birthday,
I’m swallowed by the crowd.

I try to watch my cup of tea,
to breathe, to blink, to think,
but everyone seems light and free
while I am at the brink.

I catch the waiter passing by,
my voice a fragile sound:
“Please, could you turn the music down?”
He stops and looks around.

His face folds into puzzled lines,
his frown begins to show.
“There isn’t any music here,”
he says, uneasy, low.

And suddenly the fear shifts shape,
the noise becomes more near:
the worst part isn’t that it’s loud,
it’s that no one else can hear.