Train Poem
written today on the Amtrak from Portland to Seattle
Out the train window, I briefly see a child standing in a backyard. He doesn't pay any attention to the train. How many hundreds of them has he seen and heard? We humans can learn to ignore almost any rumble. But I feel sadness rumble in my chest and I can't ignore it. I was once a boy standing in his reservation backyard. There were no trains but I could still hear and see the world rumbling past me. I was born lonely. I was born with a suitcase in my hand and I've been a hungry engine sharing these tracks with all the other hungry engines who never quite arrive at the station called redemption.
Beautiful, Sherman. It's amazing how one image can bring you back to places of such depth. There is something surreal about seeing life from the train; it's almost as if you're privy to a world in another dimension. Thanks for this.
Your poetry never ceases to touch me. This is so poignant.