The Sound of a Train

Even now, I hear one and I long to leave
without a suitcase or a plan; I want to step
onto the platform and reach for
the porter’s hand and buy a ticket

to some other life; I want to sit
in the big seats and watch fields
turn into rivers or cities. I want to eat
cake on the dining car’s

unsteady tablecloths, to sleep
while whole seasons
slip by. I want to be a passenger
again: a person who hears the name

of a place and stands up, a person
who steps into the steam of arrival.

Faith Shearin