ON THe train I happened to see this delightful elderly lady who was sitting quite still just taking in the scenery. I approached her and asked what she was thinking about. She told me that she was remembering when she was a girl and had lived in the area and what she used to do.
Fee
I went to a bus station and booked a bus to go to the airport to fly overseas the next day.
I always get off at this stop.
The train whistle leaves me behind
in a smoke cloud of memories.
They always leave me at this stop, too.
I say I understand in a way that eases
the mountain from their shoulders
as I take my landslide out of the train doors,
their hand-made goodbyes waving
without the courage for words.
This train goes so many places,
and they can’t be tied down.
There are so many stops on this train,
but this? This one is mine, they say,
I belong here in this spot,
gilded with my initials, staked-in
plaques refurbished each year
to tell of its founding history.
I’m tired of his name,
his touch, a hot brand
behind my eyelids sometimes
in dreams that leave me too cold
for the summer heat to sterilize my bones.
No one wants to wait for frozen things to thaw.
I don’t think it should be hard
to proceed slowly, to build trust
before you expect all its riches,
but then again what do I know?
Nothing but this train stop in this loop
of suitors and visitors who find the knowledge
of this place too stifling,
who see my shoulders and tell me
I’m just fortunate enough
to be strong enough
to carry it.
Sometimes, I want to nail this coffin shut.
Sometimes, I want its headstone to read
‘it wasn’t my fault,’ damnit.
It wasn’t my fault.
This place isn’t your home. These people aren’t your friends. High school sucked so much of your light away and the military took what was left. Your smile was stolen from you. But that’s okay; it was a crooked one anyway. You can find a new one. Or you can borrow someone else’s for awhile, till you find your own. Just because you were born here doesn’t mean you belong here. Trash the map. Turn left.
We drank whisky and ate tater tots at the Grown Boy Bar near the Mackerel Street train station. I savored each crispy bite before polishing it off with fine scotch, and she was happy to partake. We talked about everything from our jobs to our dogs to our old pog collections when we were kids – until, inevitably, the discussion became more serious.
Belinda Roddie
She looked around the dingy room. Cobwebs in the corner. It felt like something out of the Old West. She tried to get comfortable in the chair and ignore the men across the divide of the benches. She was decently sure she was safe.
We walked to the station, hand in hand in hand in hand. The four of us wondered what was to come next. Would it be joy? pain? Nothingness? It didn’t matter, we were out of choices, it was time to go. This place was falling apart and there was no saving it. Friends, family, all gone.
So stepped out.
jdmckay
I pulled up to the train station and realized that my trip was next week! with that realization, I headed home.
ON THe train I happened to see this delightful elderly lady who was sitting quite still just taking in the scenery. I approached her and asked what she was thinking about. She told me that she was remembering when she was a girl and had lived in the area and what she used to do.
I went to a bus station and booked a bus to go to the airport to fly overseas the next day.
A place you stop when you take a public transport. I guess I don’t really care about public transport because I have grab.
I always get off at this stop.
The train whistle leaves me behind
in a smoke cloud of memories.
They always leave me at this stop, too.
I say I understand in a way that eases
the mountain from their shoulders
as I take my landslide out of the train doors,
their hand-made goodbyes waving
without the courage for words.
This train goes so many places,
and they can’t be tied down.
There are so many stops on this train,
but this? This one is mine, they say,
I belong here in this spot,
gilded with my initials, staked-in
plaques refurbished each year
to tell of its founding history.
I’m tired of his name,
his touch, a hot brand
behind my eyelids sometimes
in dreams that leave me too cold
for the summer heat to sterilize my bones.
No one wants to wait for frozen things to thaw.
I don’t think it should be hard
to proceed slowly, to build trust
before you expect all its riches,
but then again what do I know?
Nothing but this train stop in this loop
of suitors and visitors who find the knowledge
of this place too stifling,
who see my shoulders and tell me
I’m just fortunate enough
to be strong enough
to carry it.
Sometimes, I want to nail this coffin shut.
Sometimes, I want its headstone to read
‘it wasn’t my fault,’ damnit.
It wasn’t my fault.
This place isn’t your home. These people aren’t your friends. High school sucked so much of your light away and the military took what was left. Your smile was stolen from you. But that’s okay; it was a crooked one anyway. You can find a new one. Or you can borrow someone else’s for awhile, till you find your own. Just because you were born here doesn’t mean you belong here. Trash the map. Turn left.
the train has left the train station choo choo.
We drank whisky and ate tater tots at the Grown Boy Bar near the Mackerel Street train station. I savored each crispy bite before polishing it off with fine scotch, and she was happy to partake. We talked about everything from our jobs to our dogs to our old pog collections when we were kids – until, inevitably, the discussion became more serious.
She looked around the dingy room. Cobwebs in the corner. It felt like something out of the Old West. She tried to get comfortable in the chair and ignore the men across the divide of the benches. She was decently sure she was safe.
We walked to the station, hand in hand in hand in hand. The four of us wondered what was to come next. Would it be joy? pain? Nothingness? It didn’t matter, we were out of choices, it was time to go. This place was falling apart and there was no saving it. Friends, family, all gone.
So stepped out.
I pulled up to the train station and realized that my trip was next week! with that realization, I headed home.