Julie Platt
Husbands slip through my fingers,
children and tombstones like mah-jong tiles,
those heaps. I remember that day,
that place for my good deeds,
those cold fireplaces
forgotten washboards on prairie porches.
I was taking a train somewhere.
I can stop for the moment, collect
regret and solace, candy for the children.
The trees rush around their faces
and I'm on the beach again,
I'm leaving the country again, putting
on my makeup for the night.
I was taking a train somewhere.
Picture me on a hill,
barren geisha, red eyes lined
black. I was looking for you,
looking to collect your advice
in my reed basket, to the beach,
to the shore. I couldn't watch.
I was taking a train somewhere.
I was letting the meadows meet
my skin, letting you touch me.
I was drinking with women,
their faces all white and gray
and beautiful. I was asleep,
I was awake, I was awake.
I was taking a train somewhere.
Copyright (c) 2000 by Julie Platt
Julie Platt is a native of Pittsburgh. She is a senior English major at Saint Vincent College in Latrobe, PA. She has been published in Generation and Eye Contact, and received the James Ragan Poetry Prize in 2000. She is a Fellow of the Saint Vincent College Center for Northern Appalachian Studies, a non-profit oral history center. In poetry, she attempts to find the connections between modern life and ancient human experience, uncovering a unifying sacredness along the way.