POEMS/ Night Train
Night Train
Waiting for the night train in a woods in rural Maine,
a girl, alone, your knapsack packed with books and hope,
you stand upon a platform etched by iron tracks,
by loneliness and darkness and the falling snow.
Amidst the empty woods there is no station
to offer warmth from cold that chills the stars
and makes the moon retreat into the clouds;
there is no shelter from the ice-tongued wind
that licks its frosty breath against your cheeks
in silence, for the snow has covered every sound.
You are alone, and yet you do not mind
the growing cold, or fear the separation
from family ties and comfort of your home,
you seem to gain a strength in isolation,
and, yes, the night train when it comes
confirms it all—its light that slowly grows
inside the dark is gleaming just for you;
the humming of the rails, the echo in the ancient
wooden planks that shape the platform,
the squeal of slowing wheels sing out to you
and call you to a journey through the night.
It is the chill, the darkness, and the promise,
that you remember in the years that come,
when a dear lover keeps too warm and close
and tries to steal your memory of that night,
your longing for the freedom of the train,
your need to give an answer to its rising urgent call
until, Ulysses-like, you take up sail and oar
to seek another world where you belong.
From All Roads Go Where They Will, 2010
Waiting for the night train in a woods in rural Maine,
a girl, alone, your knapsack packed with books and hope,
you stand upon a platform etched by iron tracks,
by loneliness and darkness and the falling snow.
Amidst the empty woods there is no station
to offer warmth from cold that chills the stars
and makes the moon retreat into the clouds;
there is no shelter from the ice-tongued wind
that licks its frosty breath against your cheeks
in silence, for the snow has covered every sound.
You are alone, and yet you do not mind
the growing cold, or fear the separation
from family ties and comfort of your home,
you seem to gain a strength in isolation,
and, yes, the night train when it comes
confirms it all—its light that slowly grows
inside the dark is gleaming just for you;
the humming of the rails, the echo in the ancient
wooden planks that shape the platform,
the squeal of slowing wheels sing out to you
and call you to a journey through the night.
It is the chill, the darkness, and the promise,
that you remember in the years that come,
when a dear lover keeps too warm and close
and tries to steal your memory of that night,
your longing for the freedom of the train,
your need to give an answer to its rising urgent call
until, Ulysses-like, you take up sail and oar
to seek another world where you belong.
From All Roads Go Where They Will, 2010