The train has gone under
She is triangular-footed
Cubano music echoes
Toes tap
Two women talk of polar opposites
I sit next to my shadow
Dreams sprouting from me
Others’ dreams like dust gathered at my doorstep
Leaves, debris, and sky
Twisted metal
Swingset of death
Tossed bodies
A flowing geyser of limbs.
I’m swinging
Voices of strangers and empty seats.
The lucky ones who stopped before stepping on the platform.
Her foot taps
Timing her existence
Broken heel
No repair.
3/11/04 after Madrid train bombing written while on BART
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