Listen to it.
And buy random poetry anthologies to find poems like this one.
This one could be a girl I know but somehow younger.
Something like this has happened to me every time I’ve traveled or moved someplace totally new: I’m in a library, train, pub, museum–some crowd–and every person in my periphery is someone I know. For a split second. Until I look. Which I can’t help doing over and over. Sometimes I’ve made other people look too, my swivel-head has been so pronounced.
Is there a language from which we could steal a word, schadenfreude-style, deja vu-style, for this reflex? Or for the frisson of disappointment and nostalgia that comes right after, when you realize you’re still among strangers? (Frisson? Nostalgia? Not quite it.)
Anyway, I like “Recognition” because it means I’m not the only one.
It’s in Kate Clanchy’s book, Slattern (Picador, 2001).