She boards the train
with calculated caution and
adequate reason—she convinces herself.
Now she’s on the train
the clattering beast, her old foe;
no railings, only wings.
The way she floods her eyes
with intention, searching for a
destination that seems to be soaring
past the windows, illicit ghost stations
that, for some reason, excite her.
She denies. There’s no way
you will be able to persuade her.
She sits, content with this journey,
this so-called adventure, this anticipated
quest of the heart. In her certainty
and incorrigible wisdom she will not
be bowed. She will not listen.
If you beseech her to
come to her senses
she will angrily and promptly
produces the train ticket from her
hand, asserting justice and righteousness,
and you shall suspect lunacy: a girl
sitting on a weathered bench, wrapped
in her flamboyant traveling coat,
humming a gentle tune,
holding a suitcase that is empty,
and her hair adrift with
a mythical wind.
There is no train. There never
will be a train. There is only
a mirror, tugged carefully in the
folds of her reason which
on its surface contains
the reflection of a pair
of clear-cut diamond eyes,
ever-seeing and ever-knowing,
shimmering like stars in the dark.
This is unlike my usual writing style…I’m trying to explore different modes of expression. This “mode” is inspired by Leonard Cohen’s poem, “What I’m Doing Here”, which is an excellent poem about…hehe, I won’t tell you what it’s about. 😀 Or you’ll be influenced by my interpretations! If you’re thinking about reading it, that is. It’s about 20 something lines. It’s super short and it’s worth a read. 😀