Photo taken by Karol Franks on

Thought I saw you back at Reunion Station
between the threads of people and the tracks,
the intersection of Nouveau architecture and modern travelers
and the wanderers trying to find dreams real enough to eat.
Tried to find you through the crowd but you were lost,
somewhere between Pike’s Place and a parade of children.
They pushed – with two minutes to go, I bought a ticket and left.

Wish I could tell you I forgave you in this moment of time,
sitting in an empty train, wishing you could be here with me.
You would appreciate how serene it is –
Light music from the headphones of a sleeping hipster,
the car smooth as a Cadillac as it rolls through the rail,
the sun yellowing my legs until they turn orange and pink.

I jumped off at the train at Atlantic,
remembering how we once exchanged phone numbers via post-it notes.
We used to circle the windy neighborhood and climb up those stairs,
stare back at the city whose lights caught fire under sunset.

Began to hail a taxi, but forgot that you wouldn’t be there to watch
the stars collide with flashing bright planes in the sky.
So I slung the blue Jansport over my shoulder,
and through darkness, walked the rest of the way home.

This poem is included in The Sophomore Year Experience poetry compilation.


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