I am reposting a poem that I’ve written a few months back, as it was hidden in a long text about other books and other thoughts. It’s in response to the prompt on dVerse Poets to write about trains. I thought at once of Anna Karenina, but transposed to our present-day world.
She walks into the station as
if nothing could reach out or jostle
her intent; as
if the icy sheen on her forehead
gives her an armour of aloofness, invisible
Her foresight is complete, her pockets emptied of clues.
No noise to pierce her eardrums, she glides through crowds
erect and poised.
Her spine gains inches as if
the stone-weight of family has left her shoulders.
She drifts up the staircase, and crowds part
at the gauntness of her stare.
First up, then down,
directions cease to matter
if the journey’s end is one.
She’ll catch a moment when
they’re wrapped up in their small partings,
their music and emails,
their lives all about tasks, not noticing.
and she takes flight.
The screech of that train
branding scarlet letters on herds
trapped in search for romance.