I Remember the Long Train Rides

I remember the long train rides down the Hudson

on those mornings

when mist hovered solid over the water like a heavy white duvet.

*

Sandwiched

between water and the mist

a clear view of the opposite shore,

highlands hidden,

some weak sun giving the mist an internal glow,

trying to grasp hold of the day

with a paper cup of coffee in one hand

and a buttered hard roll,

plastic half unwrapped in the other

sitting in the train car

where the veteran commuters quietly play poker on the backs of the advertising posters hung at the compartment ends,

reading the paper or the latest book I had picked up on the way home the night before.

*

The occasional jarring conversation stared into whispers by the glare of so many passengers.

The New York Times crossword puzzle

to complete on Mondays and sometimes Tuesdays

if there weren’t any obscure sports figure clues.

*

Once, a kingfisher raced the train,

flight undulating in his effort to stay abreast of the car,

moving faster than the ponderous tug and barge combination on the water.

*

The fog lifted to full sun on the surface by the time we got to Peekskill and the bay.

The conductor pronounces the familiar sing-song melody.

The station stop is Peekskill, Peekskill Station.

Tickets, tickets, please, have your tickets ready.

The energetic snick-snick of the ticket-punch for the one-timers comes slowly up the aisle.

*

The poetry of stops.

Croton-Harmon (change here for all local trains)

Ossining,

Tarrytown,

Yonkers,

Harlem-125th Street

*

Underground,

dark tunnel.

Stop. Exit the car.

Spill out of the track into Grand Central Terminal

without stopping to gaze up at the constellations,

wait by the clock for a tardy rendezvous, or buy tickets.

*

Hurry up the ramp and out the door at the southwest corner,

walk by the lions

Fortitude, then Patience

on 5th Avenue below 42nd

just springing to life.

*********************

Thank you for accompanying me on this year-long journey of micro-season poetry. The second of six spring seasons in the traditional Japanese calendar is Rainwater- usui (雨水) written with the kanji for rain, then water. 雨 is one of my favorite characters. Can you see the drops pelting down from the sky?

The three micro-seasons of usui are:

February 19–23 Rain Moistens the Soil- tsuchi no shō uruoi okoru (土脉潤起)

February 24–28 Mist Starts to Linger- kasumi hajimete tanabiku (霞始靆)

March 1–5 Grass Sprouts, Trees Bud- sōmoku mebae izuru (草木萌動)

To read other poems in this series, I invite you to follow my list on Medium Micro-Season Poem Cycle here with a subscription. This collection of poems was originally published individually in Scribe by Thomas Gaudex over a period of one year from October 2023-October 2024 with the exception of rain and words (The Lark), and Fireflies (Scribe August 2023).

Natalie