Poems from the Train

Poems from the Train

  1. I want to fold into the man
    sitting beside me
    on the train.

We should wrap ourselves into one,
I’d like to turn and say,

the way my father’s mother
folded dough against the block,
the way she folded me in arms,
into her joy.

I should surround you with me,
I’d like him to turn and say,

the way these tracks
stretch into sleeping towns,
the way clouds pile on clouds.


love is never an essential

and words I stack
in the dusty cracks
of my knuckles

cannot throw shadows
against gripping hope

that there is no
blowing back wishes
or snatching them
from thieving winds


redhearted women
hold babies to their breast,
their breast to the chest
of their bluehearted men
and kiss sweeping eyes –
fold sweating desires
into winter coat pockets


I do not believe the reflections
in the window –

the faces locked in blur,
harrowing colors
of an echoed sun.

not me, either –
not the only one looking in
and looking back,

not me, either.