10:00pm Train

there are moments i am sure i am somewhere else.

moments where i am convinced i exist in another place 

fully present,

fully tangible,

but there are times i feel i am nothing more than this.

something for people to walk 

around

under

through.

there are times i am strong.

my feet stand unwaveringly on solid ground

and i walk a line ever moving forward with purpose,

but most times, i am not.

most nights i wrestle with my porcelain heart

and i cry for fear that the silence of this life will

wrap its gray fingers around its edges and squeeze.

i’m searching for a place to take a real breath.

my muscles remind me i am being shaped like clay

in the hands of an amateur artist

and i know the world is changing and i’m 

certainly changing with it,

but when clouds roll in and hide the stars

i remember with poignant clarity that 

i’m so far from home.

contentedness lies in a direction i cannot see

and i don’t want to look now anyway.

i hear the 10:00pm train outside paper walls 

and i catch myself inventing daily purpose in little ways:

watering a plant,

opening a window,

lighting a candle,

and say to myself (again and again)

that, for just a moment, it is okay to exist precisely at this point.

that, if i can keep this small wick burning, 

truly keep it aflame despite its maddening fragility,

maybe i can keep myself ignited too.

maybe i can keep myself ignited too.

(m e g)

Reviews

[The Twin Arenas]

Great write, Meg. I feel ya. It often feels like the whole thing is nothing but a failed exercise in "staying present" while trying your damndest not to notice too carefully anything else, which, if you manage to do for any amount of time, will depress you terribly. A vicious, vicious cycle. I took up golf.