Written for Spidey's Weekly Poetry Contest |
LAST TRAIN The last train was due in the station at 9:15, and I gathered my belongings, looking left and right to see if anyone was watching me as I held my purse close. I had arrived early that September morning, sitting there and watching people embark on a journey, watching as they disappeared into the train, ready to change their lives. So eager were the children, laughing as they ran ahead of their parents, climbing aboard and hollering "Hurry Up!", excitement rising as the train whistle sounded once more. An old couple, helping each other along toward the train, she urging him on although his steps were ever so slow and painful; Slow motion, but the train would wait for them. It was time. I stood and lifted my bags and started the long walk to the last train; a porter appeared and asked to carry them and the treasures of a lifetime were gone. Panic set in and I turned to call him back; I decided not to go, after all, I had waited for so long and still it wasn't right for me to just leave without finishing my job... The whistle sounded once more, the train moving ever so slowly, but without the clickety-clack sound, and in seconds it was gone out of sight and I was standing there, bags beside me. Bright lights, voices fading in and out and pain so deep I couldn't stand it, eyes opening to a blur of faces above me, willing me to live; a sudden shout of joy: "She's going to make it!" Months later, as my broken body healed, I was able to go home. They told me I was a miracle to have survived the crash, I didn't remember and yet, I remembered clearly the train... No railroad within miles, I was told, and I probably was dreaming... Countrymom 8/3/05 |