There’s a meek sort of rasping
Coming from across the train
With frail marrow and a kind smile
Stitched together by a thread of longing and courtesy
Opaque hues of denim
As murky as the winter sea
Rocked by the motion of the rails
Search the frills of a child’s collar
For the forgiveness only time can give
Her shadowed eyes bore into mine

But as I tried to furnish a reaction
A white skirt blocks my view
And towers over like all of those pretty American buildings
I’ve only seen in tattered pages and cracked voices
Of forlorn faces and war torn memories
And her golden hair is molded by a red ribbon
And her long nails dig into her beige purse
And she stares towards the doors
Biting her lips and passively planning an escape route
As the train pulls to a stop

Then a swarm of moving bodies knock her and numerous more
Into the swell
And out on the platform
Attention is peaked by the two snickering girls
With navy skirts and matching hair bows
The size and color of a setting sun
Who drop their faces and grab their leather portfolios
And sprint out of the closing doors
About to miss their stop

And careful pupils follow their retreating forms
But they are not just my own
As cascading chestnut locks
Frame a plush nose
And a supple body
With a ***** apron around the waist
And folded fingers with crossed calves
A queen living in a pauper’s mirror
While cradling a bag full of bleach and ammonia
Keeping an eye on a basket full of apples

Which keep being searched thoroughly
With small eager palms
From a mother’s lap
With little auburn curls
Blocking out the view of the guardian
Who, with soothing speech, forming lines and dainty features
Reaches out to the child with fruit
And every unspoken word
That she will never hear from her own mother
Teaching her unspoken lessons
Of the distant and sought after dreams of youth and childhood
Which so many want, but so few acquire
Which so many held but had to lose


Like the younger lady
With a book in hold
And a stitched brow
Browsing through the myriad of pages
Ink stained hands frantically flipping through
Each passage, each syllable
Slowly wrapped into information
And passion the color of her hair
And the specks of prolonged sunlight
Dusted upon her cheeks
Which were glowing red with frustration and a thirst
For approval of those who had previously turned their noses
That a mere manual could not quell nor explain
The emptiness growing in the heart of useless searching, or her wallet


With the endless thrumming of the rails
And night falling on the light like a fire proof blanket
The cabin almost empty to the only presence beside my party
Head turned
Leering through the window
The darkness pulling on her hair
Shoulders slumped but back as stiff as a board
With one leg pulled under the other
And the smell of soft dirt or pelting rain
Permeating from the seat
The conscious form with abyssal eyes as dark and oceanic as the deep
Searching the night world outside of the window
For specks of light within the vast, swallowing landscape
A digit sliding off the pane, smearing anything found into sweat and vapor
The coldness of her eyes, filled with rage and grief quickly dart in one direction
As her neck snaps towards me, whether out of disgust or courtesy

I quickly turn away and into the warmth of my grandmother’s form
And smother my face in her wrinkled hands
As she pats my head, and calls me by my first name
The cabin at a halt, and her line of sight towards
The two men with white gloves and red symbols on their uniforms
Hauling off the poor old woman
Who’s rasping had eventually given way to suffocation
And my inattention had given way to more than I had cared to see

With small opaque eyes
As murky as the winter sea
With every rasping breath
And a kind smile
No longer wanting courtesy