For several years, I rode a commuter train into Minneapolis for work. I’ve always liked trains. It’s one of my favorite modes of travel. The poem that follows was written as a simple description of my experience. It wasn’t until my writer’s group read it unedited that they told me about the dark undertones of my word choices. Honestly, I did not see it until they pointed it out. It shows that we sometimes get so close to what we write that we lose sight of what is truly coming out through our words. This poem was recently read at the open mic night at the Lakefly Writer’s conference in Oshkosh, Wisconsin.
Last Station
Souls stand on a concrete pond
poured into perfect four-foot squares.
A dual river of steel runs through the pond.
Rumbles echo in the distance.
Out of the mist the steel serpent slithers,
follows the river, seeks the waiting souls.
Spotlight and bells signal in its coming.
Rumbles, closer now.
The serpent screeches as steel crushes steel.
It stops, wanting to feed. Many maws open wide.
The souls rush into the expectant body as it hisses and breathes.
Rumble stills, and the serpent feeds.
Finally sated, the steel serpent shudders.
Sluggishly, almost too full to move, it grinds forward.
Leaving the concrete pond, it rushes toward the horizon.
Rumbles fade in the distance.
Tales From The Hare 