Today I dipped my toe over the edge, thinking of you and how you slid under. People will
only wonder why the train is delayed and they have to wait, but I wonder about how
you might have been. I know how your story ends, because today when I arrived
for the line the lights were all ablaze to clean up and take your body away.
Everything is dirty contrast when illuminated this bright. I waited alone.
Your stop was not my own. You were alone too. Why didn’t you try?
Everyone else was still at home except apparently you, and me, and
that employee. “The line is down,” he said with regret. He hadn’t told
me about you yet, but I could see it on his face, the way he wept
without tears or emotional display. No news will mention you
today, or the tragedy of your final breath, a violent death
but not worthy of their words or pen. You must have
felt so hopeless. Again. Again. Again. And Again.
The train your last friend to hold you close. I hope
you didn’t feel the electricity of that last touch.
Others have preceded you on this journey.
Dozens each year. But, I’m still here.
Reading your whiteboard epitaph
written in black dry erase:
OUR APOLOGIES,
TRAIN DELAYED.
At first I thought the narrator had jumped in front of a train. But by the end, I supposed it was really a eulogy for whatever he/she had been planning had the train been on time?
John at The Bathroom Monologues
I found this particularly troublesome, because someone I knew died that way.
Blessings and Bear hugs!
Bears Noting
I’m very sorry to hear that. My boyfriend wrote me yesterday and asked me to write a poem as he had this very experience. I see it as a eulogy of sorts. I cried when I wrote it. I wish everyone could be saved, but sadly that is not how this life is meant to play out.
Your comment made me revise.
I realized my message was a bit distorted; however, that’s the joy of poetry, read it how you prefer. I actually really liked your take on the poem.