Night Journey (Poetry)
27th January 2013
They seemed remote, transparencies who sat
swaying slightly with the rhythm of the train —
that other train, the constant ghost that ran
alongside them as they burrowed through the night.
The compartment wasn’t new, it’s comfort scuffed
and rather worn — well-used, approaching drab,
the windows’ glass, streaked grey with winter’s grime,
held dopplegangers nodding over books.
Two strangers who exchanged an awkward smile
then whiled away some minutes being polite —
each feigning interest in the other’s life,
the journey shared a random overlap.
His face wax-pale and lined beneath the lights,
he read in silence, failed to turn a page
as though stuck on one sad paragraph, transfixed
by melancholy and she felt a sigh
escape him, hover, almost seen as smoke
or bubbled words held in the waiting air —
as though he breathed one thought, or it broke free
and touched her, caught at common memory
and the longer that she studied him and stared,
his presence in the glass became more real
inside the darkness, conjuring a tale
of who he might be from his sober suit —
the frayed-cuff tweed of quality run down,
shoeleather cracked, his suitcase likewise bore
evidence of years of wear and tear
and faded labels mapping out his past.
She saw the glint of gold — a crested ring
worn on a hand uncalloused and stain-free,
a surgeon’s hand or sculptor’s or perhaps
a pianist’s she mused, and all the while
he bowed his head and never once glanced up.
She caught faint cedar notes of his cologne
with undertones of turkish cigarettes —
a subtle blend she never could forget.
The rhythm changed — they rattled over points —
one flicker then the carriage lights went out,
a sudden gust of cold air bullied in
to freeze her where she sat, imagining
a soft goodbye before the door clicked shut
and darkness stayed the longest minute more
until light flooded, showed that he had gone —
a single ticket dropped upon the floor...
They stopped the train and searched along the track
but found no trace to give her story weight
and doubt within her drowned his fading voice,
the echo quiet but still she glimpsed his face
and kept the ticket, wondering each time
she took the train, especially at night,
if she would see him, maybe find a way
to break the pattern — let him journey on.
swaying slightly with the rhythm of the train —
that other train, the constant ghost that ran
alongside them as they burrowed through the night.
The compartment wasn’t new, it’s comfort scuffed
and rather worn — well-used, approaching drab,
the windows’ glass, streaked grey with winter’s grime,
held dopplegangers nodding over books.
Two strangers who exchanged an awkward smile
then whiled away some minutes being polite —
each feigning interest in the other’s life,
the journey shared a random overlap.
His face wax-pale and lined beneath the lights,
he read in silence, failed to turn a page
as though stuck on one sad paragraph, transfixed
by melancholy and she felt a sigh
escape him, hover, almost seen as smoke
or bubbled words held in the waiting air —
as though he breathed one thought, or it broke free
and touched her, caught at common memory
and the longer that she studied him and stared,
his presence in the glass became more real
inside the darkness, conjuring a tale
of who he might be from his sober suit —
the frayed-cuff tweed of quality run down,
shoeleather cracked, his suitcase likewise bore
evidence of years of wear and tear
and faded labels mapping out his past.
She saw the glint of gold — a crested ring
worn on a hand uncalloused and stain-free,
a surgeon’s hand or sculptor’s or perhaps
a pianist’s she mused, and all the while
he bowed his head and never once glanced up.
She caught faint cedar notes of his cologne
with undertones of turkish cigarettes —
a subtle blend she never could forget.
The rhythm changed — they rattled over points —
one flicker then the carriage lights went out,
a sudden gust of cold air bullied in
to freeze her where she sat, imagining
a soft goodbye before the door clicked shut
and darkness stayed the longest minute more
until light flooded, showed that he had gone —
a single ticket dropped upon the floor...
They stopped the train and searched along the track
but found no trace to give her story weight
and doubt within her drowned his fading voice,
the echo quiet but still she glimpsed his face
and kept the ticket, wondering each time
she took the train, especially at night,
if she would see him, maybe find a way
to break the pattern — let him journey on.