We
left Oregon by train
My
mom and my sister and I
But
I was so young
I
don’t remember the station
Or
getting on the train
My
memory starts
At
seeing the ocean
As
the morning grew
We
sat and watched
In
the dining car
I
looked out the window
Fascinated
by endless water
Filing
in a dark blue line
Just
above the blurring landscape
Close
at hand
Just
below
An
endless light blue sky
Filling
in the top half of the window
Then
there was the stop
At
a desert station
That
looked like a movie set version of itself
I
wondered why people would get off there
And
where would anyone live
In
a dusty, flat deserted wasteland
With
nothing but this station in sight
We
finally made Los Angeles
A
country unto itself
Walked
out
Through
Union Station
To
meet Grandpa and Grandma
The
wonderful world of Olvera Street
A
colorful gateway to the busy city
Later
my father would join us
He
had grown a beard
I
barely recognized him
It
put the idea
Somewhere
in my head
That
when dads are alone
Their
beards grow faster
And
when trains take you away
People
change
No comments:
Post a Comment