“What once broke my heart has set me free,”
Brushing aside the cliches like so many moths,
Smiling, eyes closed, only to herself.
She said, “I was a passing train in the night
That one black-haired scamp chose not to catch.
We used to meet at the depot, and it all ended so fast.
And for months I left flowers and blood on the tracks.
Now I lean at last, and the bench supports my back.”
“I was a passing train in the night,
Now others have found their lovers
And I have found myself alone.
I have found a neighborhood
Which I can call my own.
My neighbors love me; some resent me,
And few know from whence I’ve come.
Few know the sound that used to come
From hitting this torn drum.
Even I cannot remember now the timbre or the pitch.
I can remember the records
And that certain narcotic itch.
Always scratching my nose,
Painting my toes,
Sucking smokes as I sped to the train depot.
All young and alive like a car wreck in the night,
Fearing the law to the bone.
“Yes, and I found my way home.
I’ve cried so long and hard,
They have named a black storm Hurricane Allison.
A hero saved me
Charming and wise,
Neither grasping nor
Needing any disguise,
And his name was Brian and he pulled me up from the ground.
And her name was Hillary
And she watched me while I slept.
Her name was Hannah
And she blessed me
With her company.
And none tried me for they knew me to be worthy.”