Sunday, August 12, 2018

Her Leaving




Film strip, a train’s windows.
Outside mine,
parents are straining for a last glimpse.
Embarrassed, she stares ahead.

The train moves, windows pass.
Outside the next,
mother is easing the glasses down her nose
to remove a tear.

At the next, husband’s arms around her,
and words, words, invisible words.
The train now gone from the platform,
a tail, a film strip flapping free.

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