by on May 12, 2016

The train’s grave whistle
ascends from every tree in the valley
spreads out in the sky everywhere at once
and I move quietly
through mansions of light
ascending along the clay road
dreaming all day
of impossible journeys

I’ve always done this

And as each light in each window pales
I wake and return
to the clay road
and a night sky full of holes
a reminder of what I chose
and what was chosen for me
as if they are somehow different


John L. Stanizzi — author of Ecstasy Among Ghosts, SleepwalkingDance Against the WallAfter the Bell, and Hallelujah Time!  His poems have appeared in Prairie Schooner, The New York Quarterly, Rattle, and others.  He teaches English at Manchester Community College. Find him online at

2 thoughts on “Train

  1. Mary McCarthy says:

    Evocative and mysterious, like that train,whistle and how it sets us dreaming. And if it exists, can we ever know the difference between what we choose and what is chosen for us??

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