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Running Away in Two Parts

I watched you, with your hadns in the pockets of your faded denim minni, stumble up to the ticket counter and buy a train ticket to new York with four twenties for eleven thirty in the morning and then you sat down on one of the chairs with the padding oozing out and poured over seventeen and fingered your braided hair and texted someone on your phone ad climbed onto the train; I sat across from you and I watched you get up at noon and buy a coffee with one hundred and fifty six cents and sit back down at twelve o seven and open one small packet of sweet and low with your long white fingers and pour it into your black cofee which you gulped down ad finished by twelve twenty after which you dozed off and when you awoke your off-white pillow was streaked with mascara and it was raining outside and God was crying for you and you slowly unbraided your hair and your blue eyes caught mine over my newspaper and you opened you window and turned your body away from me and I stared at you back as the conductur came by and collected your ticket stub as you gripped you empty coffee cup while the man next to me was snoring and the woman behind me breathed deeply in gentle sleep and you filled your gentle lungs with air; I looked at my watch and it was exactly one o clock and the sun was no directly overhead as you threw yourself and your long legs out the window and moments later I felt my body shake as we ran over you.I leaned over and read your last note to the world which you had left on your seat "goodbye" and then I realized that you was me and me was you, that you were the observer with the newspaper and I was the doer now dead and I woke in a cold sweat to a white pillow and a pink alarm clock and descended the stairs and waiting on the table was an empty bowl with a metal spoon and all that was left was a whirring dryer and a sleeping computer and classical music on the radio and the cat curled up on the sofa basking in the rays of the sunlight sifting through the garden and into the glass windows in an empty house and pause. All I could here was the soft ticking of the clock and the endless beat of my heart and my soft white tears falling and somewhere far off the steady never ending chugga chugga of a late morning train.





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yaelephant5 said...
Sept. 23, 2009 at 8:35 pm
tnx, i will.
 
razorzRpainful said...
Sept. 23, 2009 at 2:55 pm
amazing way of thinkin
magazine quality
check out some of my work
 
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