I’ve learned to love the sound
of trains at night.
My heart used to quicken,
as steel glided upon steel;
accelerating with the wind
buffeting plastic scratched glass
of reflected faces in mustard light.
The hum, has become my melody,
accompanying scolding hot baths,
twirling in a desk chair
and walking between rooms,
fingertips brushing wood.
The horn, reminds me I am alone,
as it echoes in my one-storey home;
off each wall and down each door,
voiceless to join its song.
I imagine the stars winking above,
as midnight trains pass below
carrying souls and silence,
to the beginnings and ends
of stories I’ll never know.
In those fleeting moments
when metal is a blur,
I hear happiness and heartache,
nose whistles and laughing,
hope and misery; I hear me.
The noise my bare feet make
across laminate and carpet,
the quiet of my breathing,
the fidgeting of my fingers
lost upon strands of hair,
the rustle of bedsheets,
as I tuck myself into a kingsize
space fit for a queen.
When I say, I’ve learned to love
the sound of trains at night,
what I mean is, I’m learning to love
myself when I’m on my own.
© Kristiana Reed 2018
I’m all fr that! Used to lay in bed listening to the clickers clack as a child – even tho the train was over a mile away, I could count the carriages by the lights, and the goods trains with the little guards van at the end, I wanted that job! 🙂
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Clickety Clack I meant, and For, not fr! Sorry about that! 😉
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