On the Train I Thought of Chagall
I saw a long line of cars.
I saw a big white house.
The ground was mottled
and abraded like
the back of a buffalo.
I saw a chicken coop,
a muddy ditch,
the padded cell
of the sky.
I saw a hunting blind,
ratcheting arms,
coal silos,
sand silos,
yards like ratty bath
mats, abandoned
sand boxes.
No green man.
No benevolent cow.
No villagers whistling
and hoisting sickles.
No multi-colored houses.
No woman waltzing
on the wind, Chagall.
It was the morning after,
the tough rows to hoe,
the scrub brush of babies
and midnight feedings,
Kansas before the witch’s
stockings and the wizard’s
charade. No tree of life,
just my chalky fingers
on the window pane,
just my face pressed
against the glass.
This selection comes from the poetry book, Goodbye Toothless House, available from KATTYWOMPUS PRESS. Purchase your copy here! Our curator for this selection is Tierney Bailey.
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