Me, walking

Me, walking
A fallen friendship
A bitter

See a
Bird, eating
A speck of food
Clamped in beak
Free from

We celebrate.


On the train

On the train after a long overdue visit to my grandfather,
I look out the window and see a cemetery in the distance,
a human presence in artificial rock climbing an overgrown hill,
its granite steps to heaven falling short by a couple feet.

These stones and their tenants sleep as we speed away,
and I turn my attention back inside the carriage.
There is warmth and light here, and sound.

Are we there yet?

The weakening heartbeat of tired wheels flatline
at an intermediate station. Some passengers alight,
lighting a cigarette as they step back into their lives.
Others board and take their empty seats
and we all check our phones, religiously,
for the time.

How much longer do we have?

Then the train, slow as an illness, grinds to a new start,
continuing on its journey as if nothing had changed.