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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The conductor’s call lingers~ the train’s smoke and steam dissolve. Somewhere, a suitcase clicks shut~ finality in the sound of leather straps. Viewed through smudged glass, the world blurs into watercolor: gas stations with their winged signs, a lone boy waving from a bicycle that will rust by summer’s end. We press our foreheads to the glass, watching telephone poles stutter past like film reel frames~ each one a flickering second gone before we can name it. We pass a field where horses stand like forgotten statues. Their shadows stretch long across the stubble, as if trying to catch us. Walking towards the dining car we pass a woman in a pillbox hat~ she folds her gloves into her lap, staring at the ghost of her reflection as it floats over picked cotton fields. We smell burnt toast and something sweet~ maybe pie. Wearing a rumpled suit, a man stirs sugar into his cup, counting the spoon’s lazy circles like a prayer.. Dusk arrives. Lamps flicker on, casting long shadows that stretch across the aisle like memories too thin to hold. Some rides never end. They just grow quieter, carriages emptying until it’s only you and the rhythm of the rails counting down the miles, remembering…. You may read the related memoir vignette at poetrysoup.com/short_stories/all_aboard_13601

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