Tuesday, November 24, 2009


I remember boxed lunches on a train
I remember running down the car
Sliding back muted silver doors - slipping through
I remember the taste of cold – sweet on my tongue
But a sting to my eyes
I remember I stared at the ground
Now a frenzied pebbled blur snapping in a space
Far below
I remember I held my breath
And Jumped
To the Next Car

I remember the Black Capped Man
Punched our tickets – one by one
Then closed our compartment door

I remember dusk sped by
I remember Mountains ahead and behind
Still and strong
In non-movement

I remember Mama pulled a gown from her satchel
I remember I climbed to the top bunk
I remember my question –

Where will we be when the rail tops the ridge?

I remember we sliced through black hills
Our train a bullet – with a whistle that screamed of its
Life in the
Late Evening Shadows

I remember I held my sister’s hand
When she snuck up to my bunk and
We double hugged Raggedy Ann
Under our blanket

I remember we surged through the night

I remember I hoped we’d not stop
Til we came to the place as
Free as the Train

I sit on the slope and watch the stream. It is steady in flow. Yet every wave that slaps the rock throws out its own water ring. I want to jump across the stream from jagged stone to rock moss - but I am wary of my balance.

I revere acrobates whose every movement is tuned to the swing of the bar - all trust in timing - no blame assigned to the trapeze. The flyer's mind is blank to all but the flight, to the grasp of the bar 50 feet above the ground - 6 inches away from death or life.

I pull myself up from the hill. I jump step the stones across the stream under a throbbing sun.