Moment
Moment
I’m sitting on the train;
it’s all so much the same,
why does it always change?
this sitting on the train.
The strips along the platform
as yellow as they fade,
Now spray paint swelling every wall
but not much to be read,
sure, missives of a sort —
initials blown to bubble;
train jitter jars then starts again (again)
through city rubble.
I long for something shining
not metal and not glass;
will the dulled to sparkle,
what’s passed to not be past;
rest one hand against my lips,
think small moist palms (once kids),
then feel (imagined) yours, dry, warm,
as a kiss upon closed lids.
Now, we cross the river,
a train next track smears blue,
as I still wait for that some time
when I was me, you you.
************************
A drafty sort of poem for my prompt on Real Toads to write about this very moment.
I’m sorry to have been so absent; I have been working working at work, but also have put out a couple of books–one about the death of my mother, called Momoir, Maybe, and a new children’s book, Little Dog Thirsts For Adventure. Check them out!
Tags: http:withrealtoads.blogspot.com; this very moment poem, Karin Gustafson, Little Dog Thirsts for Adventure, manicddaily, Momoir, that some time poem
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ManicDDaily 
February 8, 2019 at 11:15 am
You capture the moment in the train, but also other dear moments as thoughts or visions to transport the imagination far from the train ride.
February 8, 2019 at 2:23 pm
“…when I was me, you, you.” How I relate to that! A wonderful read, and congrats on your books, Karin! Way to go. My memoir stays bogged down. Sigh.
February 8, 2019 at 3:02 pm
You may have to lower your standards, K. I’ve seen some really pretty Box Car Art.
..
February 8, 2019 at 7:37 pm
ha ha! Yes, it can be lovely. k.
February 9, 2019 at 1:32 am
Sadly we yearn the past and fear the future and have been doing so for years. Loved the poem.
February 9, 2019 at 4:32 am
What is more in the middle of a moment than a psalm from the commute? Maybe trains are more amniotic (and conducive to meditation) than cars, jostling, enclosed, hurtling toward hive or sanctum. I loved those bubbly letters (vatically, not really) and the slow drift toward our deepest occupations and yearning. PS More of us need to declare far less finished work than this as “drafty”! Always great to read your poems; congrats on the accomplishments elsewhere too.
February 9, 2019 at 10:41 am
Thanks so much, Brendan. In a bit of a depression over work (both creative and income-producing) so I find myself more drawn to the children’s books and (ha) to drawing. I get a lot of pleasure over them, and it helps to have some grandchildren who read them! k.
February 9, 2019 at 3:53 pm
I feel like I’m on the train riding all your emotions with you. There are often two destinations when we travel, the physical and mental moving us toward their own delivery spot.
February 10, 2019 at 8:22 pm
With you on this one. Thought and scenery blend together.
Congratulations on all your work!