I awake to the clacking 
of the train's wheels, 
pulling me towards 
a motionless sky—

the new day haunts, 
consumes me; its colours flash 
across the window, a slideshow 
of impressionist sketches. 

There is a family of immigrants 
chatting about how everything's 
changed, how leaving 
and arriving 
are tied tightly in a trunk 
of ancestral memories. 

They offer me some coffee. 
We drink, say a few words, 
get our cases ready. 
The next stop is ours.


© 2008 by Maria Cinanni. All rights reserved.