The Night Train

Where will the night train take me?

So many trains

all leading to distant December destinations

crammed full of strangers breathing

clouds against the windows’ glass

as they exhale their expectations

            Convinced we knew the future from what was

            afraid to confront the past in

            what we had

            become

But for the desperate promise to find a summer unknown

we dismantled the track that would lead us back

home

            No one remembered the snowstorm in

            the mountains

            how we yearned to crash

            to ride this shivering disappointment

            right down to its final

            gasp

When all aboard ride the night train alone

mark the passing of the time with the

falling of the

snow

No use in unpacking for tomorrow    

tomorrow is a thousand midnight

dreams of color

away

            This engine powered by

            frost-covered anticipation

            the eternal steel of millions of tracks

            rusting into the most elusive of

            destinations

only to find ourselves here once again

Where will the night train take me?

this I learned never to ask

            not with so many trains all

            vacating their station

            with so many tracks, less one, left for me—

            the one you have taken

Diary entry, 1994

A psychic told me once I was from another planet.  Perhaps she was right after all.  I feel strange enough.

Submission

The Hate List, 2007

109.  How you made me feel like I’m difficult and crazy and no one else could ever put up with me.

Diary entry, September 16, 1986

Oh, I could talk a blue streak about family, divorce, and such, but I’ve worn the subject to the ground.  I go see a therapist, which helps.  He’s nice and I always get to talk about what I want to talk about.  I think everyone would benefit from therapy, just to help them cope with day to day life.  I don’t think there’s a thing wrong with me at all—in fact, I think I’m better off than most because I get to get all of those yucky bad feelings off of my chest.  At least I have an alternative.

Tomorrow is Crying For You, Later

I buried the doll behind a tree.  Just as I was arranging some sticks and dead branches to camouflage the grave, a small, fluffy champagne-colored thing appeared from behind a bush.  It had large, dark eyes, and a face so flat it almost curved inward.  Barely clearing the ground, the moving fluffball either had no legs, or legs camouflaged by mass amounts of fluff.  Its head seemed too large for its body and in general the creature was so odd that for a moment I thought it must be some kind of alien from outer space.  Only once it barked in a friendly sort of way did I realize it was a dog.  “Hello,” I said, a bit uncertainly. 

The dog bared crooked teeth at me in a comical attempt at a smile.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

The dog just wiggled its nose at me.

When I then sniffled, drying the last of my tears with my sweater sleeve, the dog shuffled over and gently head-butted my ankle.  I leaned over to pet it, which the dog seemed to like very much.  Suddenly grateful, I kissed its head.  It smelled like vanilla cake.

Escape

One must still have chaos in oneself to give birth to a dancing star.

                                       --Friedrich Nietzsche