At Night

Her awkward old frame shifts

just a tiny bit over

as the train consumes

another mile in the night.

She takes one of those

gasping breaths of sleep

that includes a moan.

Does the roar of wheels

on track recall to her dreams

an airplane from childhood, growling

through the night clouds

to target her home?


The little boy beside her

slides down from leaning

on her arm to her lap;

waking him.

The child rubs bleary eyes

that can see nothing

out the window

because there is nothing

to be seen

but blurred darkness

speeding by.

He yawns widely

and curls his fingers

tight about the old woman’s

shirt sleeve till his eyes

fall shut again.


There is no silence

where these people sleep.

There is no stability,

only a false feeling

of the stationary.

The little boy will

live in this world of

changing, moving, going.

The old woman will only

die in it with her memories

of the real, the fear, the past,

still intact, or perhaps

gone with age.


The light flickers above

and the two dream on;

the same for the moment

in sleep.

The End

89 comments about this poem Feed