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10/24/2014

When We Talk About Trains: A Conversation

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Photo art by Reka Jellema. October 24, 2014. Untitled.

When We Talk About Trains: A Conversation


up and down

the depot, just folks
a girl with a peacock hat
skirts clinging to her thighs
the heat
of the passenger train


                                                                       in the lonesome
                                                                       quilted prairie
                                                                       the train runs a line
                                                                       of stitches


vietnam
tunnel a hole
in the eyes
of the boxcar men
the lullaby
of the night train
rocking, rocking
the way home


                                                                        when the train
                                                                        was a cradle
                                                                        that rocked me
                                                                        slow …
                                                                        and when you
                                                                        did the same


between stations
longing
for downhome fiddling,
the blur of corn, the open
door of the boxcar
and a mandolin
postcard towns
every train
cut down
to size


                                                                      

                                                                     one place or another
                                                                     it’s all the same
                                                                     on the orphan train
                                                                    
today, the city,
                                                                     tomorrow, arkansas
                                                                     all of the straw
                                                                     plucked
                                                                     from the scarecrow


Idling at the railway crossing
the train drowns out
the velvet underground


                                                                      remember
                                                                      that cautionary tale
                                                                      the headphones that kept him
                                                                      from hearing
                                                                      the train


the day came
nothing was enough
no more gin, not one drop
of comfort: all I knew
I could count
railroad ties

I knew the times
of the trains by heart
head on, headlights,
goodnight


                                                                     bars of light and noise
                                                                     apartment
                                                                     by the el
                                                                     train
                                                                     life
                                                                     train
                                                                     living


low tide
a flat horizon
glisten
from sand to sea
the train roars through
not stopping


                                                                      in every other life
                                                                      she was a ladybug
                                                                      reductive, red
                                                                      & spotted
                                                                      sometimes reincarnation
                                                                      works that way,
                                                                      father said, pointing
                                                                      at the train --
                                                                      her face
                                                                      kept chugging



creosote soaks
our noses
skipping
from rail to rail
shiny on top

                                                                      waiting for the ride
                                                                      to end
                                                                      the bleary drone

                                                                      of horn


one man
one guitar
and a long blue
grass song
about trains



                                                                     the stop before
                                                                     the last stop
                                                                     hop on
                                                                     watch the rush
                                                                     of the Dakotas


a harmonica
grows teeth
blows holes
in my soul
a harmonica
chainsaws
and the train
rolls on


                                                                     bends
                                                                     around the hills
                                                                     seeing our own end
                                                                     and the prisoners
                                                                     below
                                                                     the golden grass
                                                                     just before the tunnel


All her stories connect
like boxcars
mexico
singapore
delta oil


                                                                     it’s all the same
                                                                     hollow rain
                                                                     sound of an empty freight


blowing horn
sudden gray
this always train


Written with Jennifer Savage
Copyright Reka Jellema & Jennifer Savage
October 24, 2014

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