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Night Train, 1944
by Jeff Daniel Marion
I shiver, stand before wheels
taller than a man, steam clouds
hissing, soldiers and sailors
swarming to wait in line. I
run, cling to my mother’s skirt.
She lifts me to the safety
of her arms. I cannot say
my fear but hear her soothing
words as we board and search for
a place to settle. Now world
is all motion and I am
rocked, rocked in a rhythm, lull
of the rails’ clacketa-clack,
flicker of lights beyond this
window, candle flames swishing
past, snuffed too soon to dark, and
still we rock, low moaning cry,
whistle of black mourning dove
free-falling through time, this dirge
sung across fields, over hills
and valleys, down mountainsides.
O lonesome wordless prayer,
wail once heard never forgotten,
traveler dreaming to wake
in some station called home, its
name this river of sound to
sweep me back, enfold me once
more in familiar arms, eyes
opening to cathedral
light pouring through stained glass,
letters looping L & N,
conductor’s arrival chant,
homecall, Knoxville, Tennessee.
November 24, 2004 • Vol. 14, No. 48
© 2004 Metro Pulse
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