The Night Trains

 

The kitchen sink after 10 pm

Is a quiet place where I can

Open the window to the gentle rain,

Listen to the approaching rumble

Of the train as it crosses the trestle

And slides into town blowing its whistle

Across the river and letting it echo

Down the dark streets.

The night breeze

Filled with cut grass,

And newly hatched leaves

Reaches for my face, caressing and soft.

The patter of rain sooths my soul.

I wash the dishes before bed.

I turn out the lights, and turn the locks.

I settle down, by degrees,

As the train’s slow thunder fades

Into the distance.

Where do the trains go,

One after the other,

Through the night?

 

 

©Diane E. Dockum

May 16, 2014