Friday, February 25, 2011

Prose Poem - Creative Writing

I’ve always enjoyed trains. The way they rattle and chant over the tracks so steadily. As we clatter past the blurred scenes of trees, valleys, and houses, I close my eyes, forehead pressed against the cool, smooth glass. Eyelashes and pupils reflected like a ghost on the outside view. I wake as he squeezes my hand. We are in the station. Steam and voices crowd the space until the claustrophobia sets in. a young girl outside holds a small bag. She can’t be older than 18. She looks frantically around and then drops the bag as she spots a woman who can only be her sister. They pull each other tightly into a hug. I can barely read the lips that say “I’m sorry” over and over. A young woman, stomach slightly expanded, stretching her yellow dress, sits on a bench with her head in her hands. The station has reached its peak of noise and chaos and now is starting to quiet. We wait in our seats for our engine to start again. The station is almost empty, with pretzel bags and napkins littering the floor. A young man comes out of a small train car, and walks towards the woman on the bench. Her face lifts and a smile breaks over it. She reaches up and gently kisses him. His face remains stone. She stands up, a question on her face. He speaks to her and her face falls to match his. She shakes her head, one hand over her mouth, holding in sobs, the other protecting her stomach. She picks up her bag and slowly turns. He reaches out to her, but she leaves anyway, leaving him in the dim light of the platform. I tear my eyes from the scene outside. I squeeze the hand that’s holding mine, looking up to his face. He was distracted, looking to the opposite window where another train just pulled up. Once he feels the urgency of the pressure on his hand, he turns to me and gives me a smile that reaches his eyes. Trust.

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