The Quietest Train In New York
Good morning, city. It’s been a while.
There are little bumps under my shoes
They grip tight as trains rock these dirty floors
A tiny head pops up from behind the far tracks
Sniffing, scurrying
My train is slow approaching
Check my phone again—the local?
And close my eyes as the whooosh of air hits my face
I hear it coming towards us now
Squeaking around the twisty underground
My eyes stay keen to the open tunnel
As mumbles grow behind my back
STOP
There’s a little space between
The platform and the halted train
It’s like a black hole
Infinite and unknowable
Stand Clear Of The Closing Doors Please
The morning light streaming in feels like magic
An awakening from a long, stifling sleep
The soft rocking is like a lullaby
No candy sold, no speakers blasting
Only gentle silence
The quietest train in New York
About the Creator
Zoey Hickman
Freelance writer with big depression and little skills other than talking too much.
You can find some of my works in Adolescent, Daily Dead, Lithium Magazine, All Ages Of Geek, and Screen Queens.
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