Bones

The train stops here.

I can barely hear the whistle

blowing in the distance.

Waves coming,

crash over my face

and I find it soaked to the bone.

the luggage groped painfully

in my trembling fingers.

I await the final tide,

cast their blows upon me,

they will never stop,

I know,

they know,

they won’t,

they don’t,

so I wait in my calm come

awake only to see the open box car before me

and I am guided into the train

just before the wheels return to turning

and proceed into the misty morning haze.

- Alexia