| Rebecca Ingalls |
|||||
| station g i could have been young, or black and blue, and known all along that the evidence rode my side like a leech on a sea-swimming fish. i have dry land underneath my fingernails, too much rain on my face, a train's length away from here to you and back. laid flat on the track, the sound in the rail is hush and wail. and i wait. and it comes. holding ground by my thumbs. the conductor waves "move!" jesus said he'd have loved me more if i played dead, melted flat like a one-cent 'neath the rolling, whistling toil of the engine and i believed ... no. slow, train, slow. up i go from the dust. unbruised, minus the inkling to stay, i will walk the rest of the way. |
|||||
|
