Destinations

January 21, 2009
By Christine Doherty, Stony Brook, NY

Waving goodbye,
Watching the town fade away,
Your palm against the smudged, dirty window.
Leaving your home,
Only reminds you of your destination.

Sitting uncomfortably proper,
On the seats made of cheap mass-produced fabrics,
Wondering how people could ever fall asleep under such horrible conditions,
Makes you miss your warm cozy bed,
And takes you back to what you’re leaving behind.

Flashes of color zoom by,
Like lightning that strikes on a dry summer day,
Yet time goes by slowly.

Hoping to avoid the stranger,
Occupying the adjacent seat,
And the awkward conversations that may follow,
You unfold the book from your bag and place your headphones in your ears,
Suddenly you are invisible and all alone.

The tracks spark beneath you as the train slows to a stop
A bell rings and the sliding doors open and close,
Taking people and their baggage to different places.
The luggage overhead and at your feet,
Remind you of your own destination.


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