ManicDDaily

I am posting the poem below (a sonnet) for a dVerse Poets Pub poetics prompt to write about borders.   I thought of posting a more more risque, i.e. erotic poem, as this would somehow represent crossing a sort of personal online- publishing border,  But the fact is I kind of like the poem below, though it is not rique or erotic.  The drawing above, by Diana Barco, is from Going on Somewhere.

East Indian Trains in the Catskills
(For Jeannie Hutchins)

As lilacs cast their fragrance on wet grass,
she thinks of trains and dust, the smell of hot spiced chai,
maroon banquettes, babbled cries en masse—
muffled by shutters echoed Hindi words for buy,
the soles of porters’ shoes so flat and white and pointed,
her own were thick, protection sewn by Clarks,
the baseline of what made her feel anointed—
when her hand waved at the window, it left sparks.
She sparkled just for coming from the West
(with cash, pale eyes, and shockingly blonde hair).
But now she feels a different specialness:
no matter where she is, she once was there,
so that even on this Catskill-scented lawn,
mind resonates with Indian trains at dawn.