The Still Train
August 18, 2014
Seasons passed until I found her note.
Hidden in the breast pocket of my winter coat,
it asked me only to meet her on the train.
We had joked when we were kids
how our train home from the city took so long
we wondered if it even moved,
or if the earth just rotated beneath us.
Tired from waiting to arrive, I once told her,
“I could sleep thirty years,” I told her.
“Thirty years and then some more
because that sounds exhausting”
The years have passed now,
and oh how we have moved.
The platform is almost here, my dear.
I am beside you at last.