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

 

Image credit.