Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Switching Trains

It wasn’t the first time I’d taken that train when I woke up at 5am today –
and, like every day, I bought a ticket for the early trip
and left in the morning, going backward.
I didn’t intend to be traveling backward – I never do –
but I asked one passenger which way the train was facing
 – he pointed –
then, I noticed his glasses slipping off his nose,
his upside-down newspaper.
His shirt was inside-out.
I didn’t follow his finger.
Dare I trust an idiot’s directions?

Not many people talk on the early morning train, going backward.
The wrong corners of buildings appear first.
I never see the warning signs.
The trees run away.
It’s dizzying – so dizzying
but it mesmerizes me into complacency –
I just stay there.

Moving is admitting a mistake.
Switching seats screams for stares.
And, in the awkward train jolts of the uneven aisle, I might
fall.
I might drop my baggage.
My precious things might break; my neatly-foldeds might spill into plain sight.
Never!
No, I have to stay there, whizzing backward, ashamed to turn around.

She has moved. Very gracefully, it seems.
Baggage all intact, she sits across from me, facing forward.
She smiles.
I put one on, too.
Eye to eye to eye to eye.
Our knees knock.
She smiles again.
I take mine off.

It’s awkward to be face-to-face with a forward passenger
when I'm going backward.
I try not to look up and meet her eyes.
She obviously asked intelligent questions.
Listened.
I was the idiot.
She says, cheerily, “I get off at the next stop. You?”
“I don’t.”
And then, she’s gone, baggage still intact.

Another woman gets on and sits next to me.
She obviously doesn’t mind the early morning train,
going backward.
She doesn’t speak, but I’m satisfied. She is like me.
Our minds have married into the dizziness
mesmerizing our synopses, clipping and reattaching the grey brain matter.  
“What do you take the train for?” she asks.
I was happy with quiet, but now I say, confidently,
“I always take this train.”
She is happy with quiet now.

By and by, she says,
“I get mental treatments at the hospital.
I’m dying.
I have to take this train.”
I am suddenly startled with the quiet.
Our minds have not married.
She has to be here?
Don’t we all choose to board?

I tug the conductor’s sleeve.
“Do I have a ticket for tomorrow’s train, too?”
Do I have to stay here?
He’s confused.
“You buy the tickets. I just run the train.”
He turns around and continues running the train.
I’m sick of seeing the trees avoid me.
The odd corners are wrong.
I want to read the signs.

Dizzy, I get up and walk toward the bathroom.
With my hands, I turn the faucet on.
I splash water on my face.
Head down. 
When I look in the mirror, I see
water droplets sparkling down my cheeks,
catching on my bangs, plinking into the sink like diamonds in a wishing well,
slipping down the drain.
Gone.
The mirror tells me that my glasses are sliding off my nose.
My hat is backward.
I’m only wearing one earring.

The train stops.
I grab my baggage because I’m getting off.
“Watcha doing?” the conductor shouts, angrily.
He tries to grab my arm.
“We’ll take-off again!”

I have switched. Very ungracefully, it seems. 
I’m on another train now, trembling. 
I’ve dropped a suitcase - it just fell from my watery hands.
My clothes unfolded.
Something broke.

Stumbling around, I hear,
“You may not want to stand there.”
Pushing my glasses up my nose, I see
a Man lay down his LIFE magazine.
“You’d be standing backward.” He says.
I can’t speak.
“Are these your things?” He bends down to pick up
my baggage.
He doesn’t flinch at the weight, the missing,
the broken.
He says, “Your ticket is for the next stop.
Sit close to Me.
I’ll take your baggage.”


 


 




4 comments:

  1. Very interesting piece. I'm happy to be introduced to your poetry. All a matter of Perspective, and yes we do need Jesus to help us ride life, the train going backwards. God bless you. Susan Fox

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  2. Thank you! I just recently started writing poetry, so I am not sure I've quite found my voice yet, but I'm working on it.

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  3. You are really good at putting words in the right order. I love this kind of word adventure. It is fun to read something just for the joy of reading well crafted sentences. Thanks for making me smile today. You keep driving. I'll buy the tickets.

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  4. Thanks for your encouragment! I needed some today.

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