A railway carriage – you know, like in the olden days …
a compartment set apart, with the blinds rolled half down.
Through the narrow gap, you see ‘stuff’ flash by
at speed. You have no idea what it is, nor where you are,
Nor how long it took you to get there.
There’s a lot of it on the outside, but from in here, it all looks the same…
a whirlwind behind a screen;
In here is a cocoon. Frenetic but silent. Time-travelling
on someone else’s train.
I remember April … I caught glimpses –
Blossom, blue sky, children.
When my boy went away I climbed the carriage steps, opened the door and closed it on the world outside;
Two discs together, these worlds, spinning on one pin but no way synchronized –
a spindle the breadth of a hair bridging the gap between the two.
Two time zones. One oblivion. His voice the only thing to ground me.
Our future, the only thing to sustain my focus.
I remember April … A fog in the blooming of spring
Where nights and days merged and sleep became a dream
A whole universe in the corner of a room –
A train route with no station, no pretty place to get off,
No smoking carriage and no-one left to even check the ticket.
We’ve come so far, no-one even knows I’m here
but April … and April is gone.
The photo is of a paper sculpture my son made for me in April which I adore.