over the tracks

Over the Tracks

Each morning the train appears, point blank & sudden,
from behind the curve, in a black caterpillar rush of wheels.
There is an unused boardwalk beside the station
that closed years ago & now houses displays of art,
a writer's group, and the original benches of the past.
There is a black horse drawn on the engine, and it rears
on two legs, always facing forward, always snaking down
the narrow iron pasture of tracks with a flung back mane.
In my childhood, I stood on the trestle over the tracks, facing
the oncoming train, that rattled with warnings & whistles.
When the earthquake passed beneath me, the wind rose
in a storm of plastered clothing & wild haired trembling.
I met a boy there that said he loved me.
He said this in the rain, which seemed beautiful to me.
He said this as the rain struck the tin roofs nearby.
I watched the water pelt the houses, where coal stoves burned,
and the smoke was black & smelled of dark tar.
My tongue was thick with shyness & I remember in that moment,
the way the train rumbled away with my answers,
leaving us both in a too sudden silence.

Reviews

[Larissa G.]

I'm a HUGE sucker for train poetry, being a bit of a train buff and fan myself. It's a fairly beautiful piece. It's relatively simple but it hosts a good bit of power in terms of its images and memories about our dealings with love or what we think is love. Of course, love is as swift and powerful as the train.
Lovely metaphor. :)

[W.k.kortas]

I think the learned Mr. Orlando has latched onto not only the secret of this particular poem, but on the Phibby Venable mystique as a whole; this piece, like the general run of your work, has the sweep and power of a world-class novel, but with a magical economy; no waste, no word not doing its share of the heavy lifting. Reading your work is something like watching Michael Jordan in his prime-- we know we can't do what we see in front of us, but we can appreciate the artistry involved, and the result leaves us helpless to do anything but try to catch our breath, and then applaud wonderingly.

[Kevin Vorshak]

Really nice piece of writing, Phibby. I love the imagry and I can see two young people standing together on the trestle and feel the shaking as it passes.

[R J Askew]

Great sweep, great evocation. Ach, trains! Twnety lines, but half a lifetime of impressions packed into them. You make us feel the things you felt. It's a novel reduced to a poem. Brilliant job.

[C.T. Bailey]

Your talent for "bottling" vestiges of immense beauty and then wrapping them with metaphoric language is fantastic. If you haven't published....exactly what is it that you are waiting for? You are a gift to our culture. That is from the heart...