The train is leaving
We can see the war-weariness in the faces
Of all the people on the station platform.
You know what I mean?
They are just like us!
In fact they could be us,
But right now they are not us
But they are like us
After a hurricane.
Bone-weary
But alive.
And among those faces
We see the faces of children
Like spring flowers
In a late fall garden.
(explosion)
What is that mama?
It's a bomb but don't worry.
You are safe.
(Dear God,
Let my child live!!)
Meanwhile we fight and fight.
We fight our child's fear.
We fight the war to stay or leave,
The war to not give up hope of returning,
Not just in this life
But in life after life.
The man growing smaller on the platform
Does not cry.
He is fighting his own war
Against his urge to fall down and weep
As the train picks up speed
And disappears.
II
The windows are covered.
The lights are extinguished
So our eyes
Cannot see what is passing
Or even what is right in front of us.
Now that our children are asleep
We are like children.
The train is our mother.
The train blindly passes wheat fields
Ready for spring planting,
Through small and large towns,
Further and further from the terrible war
Where the bombs are exploding,
Closer and closer to the unknown.
There are no eyes
That can penetrate
All the veils tonight.
We must have slept.
The train is slowing down
It pulls into the station.
We help each other disembark.
A conductor appears with a red lantern
And lights our way.
