My father passed away in December of 2008 due to a car accident. Since then, a lot of my poetry has been about him.
Memories at a Train Station
Poured down on my seat
the back of my head taps
on the concrete wall,
neck exposed in ritual submission
to the dust, grime, and dirt
my eyes are slammed shut
in futile effort
to block the growing noise.
In a flash, I am 9,
two braids crawling down my back.
My fingertips brush the seat,
meeting cold metal but
pursuing in vain
the warmth radiating
from the rough hand
that I held to
when I took stumbling steps,
weaving towards the door.
I twitch my neck
and eyes slide open
before I startle
to realize that I am
in age, at least, an adult
and the hand
my quest ended for
just moments ago
lay still under
a cool clean bleached sheet and,
after relinquishing
the golden trinkets
on the symbolic third finger,
turned to ash
thanks to the unforgiving
the ever unrelinquishing
crimson funeral flame,
though his wife, his son,
and I, his daughter,
could not bear to look.
The metallic scream
of my train flows
into my ears
and I leap to leave
behind this station
though certainly
I am fated
to return again
for my ticket
whispers that though now,
I must leave home,
yet my stop
can never be
my final destination.
I wait for the conductor’s cry
to put me on the express
that will tearfully reunite
my hand with the hand I sought.
May his timing be fair
and the voyage be swift.
bookphoenix 