The Trains When I was a little girl I would lay in my bed, yellow flower comforter pulled to my ears and listen to the train whistle in the distance. I'd wonder just how I could possibly hear them when they were so far away. On certain nights I'd lull myself into a trance, starting with my toes and working up my body til every muscle was still and cold. Then I would hear those train whistles like they were next door. And it would amaze me. If I thought long and hard, I could make myself smaller than a thought I would look out those two blue windows and see myself laying in bed. The oversized doorway seemed 50 feet away and I felt like Alice in Wonderland, my body bigger than the room and growing. If I was very still for a time, I could step outside myself and see my long body with the covers pulled to my ears. The room disproportioned, like Van Gogh' s room. And I would hear that train whistle and the spell would be broken. But then I grew up or old, and moved away. And I lay in that bed with the black covers pulled to my ears. And I would cry inside my head. For the room was different and everything had changed. But as I lay there late one night, alone in my head, hearing my neighbors move above us, I heard a train whistle far off and I lulled myself to sleep. And now I'm in a house, with an attic so I can't hear the rain dance at night on the roof and I lay here with the green covers pulled to my ears. I can hear the trains once more and I think about the dark days to come. Those blaring whistles cutting through the blue night. I can feel the rythmic, vibrating churning down the track, til it softly disappears. Minutes later I can only hear it, not feel it, as the whistle continues down the track. And I lull myself to sleep once more.
Reason for writing:
Trains are one of the only familiar things to me as I have moved in life.
Birth sign: Not entered
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Carole Bennett / Scorpio.