Mary Simmons

The Train Does Not Stop

I am, sometimes, a four a.m. train,
all bell whistle and gaping jaw,
speeding, sideways, against my windowed reflections. 

Where are we going
if I am going nowhere? 

I grind ashes into rails
on which to glide, to lean on,
and I lean, farther and farther,
lopsided fire escape marked “Do Not Enter.” 

We look up through metal grates,
begging forgiveness from road salt
and the one-legged pigeon. 

I careen, half-asleep, between shadow
trees, between ticker-tape images
of all the women I am, 

and the child I am, like a mountain,
slumbers under snow
in the palm of my hand.

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Mary Simmons is from Cleveland, Ohio and is an MFA candidate at Bowling Green State University. She is an assistant editor for Mid-American Review.