Draft Sonnet, Cold House – Choosing the Wrong Train
I’m typing up this post in a freezing (closed-for-winter) house which happens to have an Internet connection.
A sonnet! A draft sonnet! Because my teeth are chattering, fingers growing stiff, I am posting this before making final decisions about the poem, especially the last lines. I’ve posted a few alternatives. Any preferences let me know. Any suggestions–absolutely let me know!
In a Hurry, Choosing the Wrong Train
I worry that, in my forgetting much,
the best route from here to there eludes
me. I overthink, then blurrily rush
to a train I barely know that broods
upon the track while my regular line
goes whoosh (in my mind). Beneath the slow chug
of this one’s start and stop, tremorous grind,
ears burn with trains not taken that speed snug
along their rails. All for some two or three,
maybe four, saved blocks–my brain’s too tired
for the calculation. The part of me
that invents tests it hopes to ace, that’s wired
for glee in a glide, tick-tocks by the door,
longs for time itself to open, offer more.
Some alternate last lines:
longing for time to open, offer more.
longing for time to spare her, feeling sore.
longing for time to spare it, feeling sore.
longing for time to open, time to spare.
Is “spare” close enough rhyme to door?
Tags: choosing the wrong train sonnet, draft sonnet, growing old sonnet, manicddaily, ManicDDaily painting, nyc sonnet, nyc subway painting, overthinking, Stress, subway sonnet
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ManicDDaily 
December 11, 2010 at 6:05 pm
It’s a beautiful poem. i had fun with it. Work it every way.
But keep it only one way.
“I worry that, in forgetting much,
the best route to me from here, eludes.
Me, I overthink, then blurrily rush,
to a train I verily know that broods
upon the track while my regular line,
goes whoosh in mind. Beneath a slow chug
this one’s starts and stops, its tremorous grind,
ears burned by trains not taken, speed lugs
along its rails. All for some two key,
maybe three paved blocks. My brain’s too tired
for the calculation. The part of me
that senses best a gyration, hopes to ace, that’s wired
for glee. gliding tick-tock by the door,
longs for time itself to open wide, and offer more.
December 11, 2010 at 7:56 pm
Mark, Thanks so much. You’ve made it into something much more profound! And added your own quirky freshness. Ha! So interesting to see how a few words can redirect and change. I really did make a poor train choice!
In a warmer house now but on iPhone. I want to do more poems again– maybe after your reading. K/