Leaving the Station

The smoke is a question mark... My view of you is covered in gray You pause, look back, then walk away You’ve neglected to open your umbrella… Tomorrow, under a different sky I will listen to the songs of yesterday The world leaves behind a sign language for broken hearts It is cloudy, it is beginning to rain… Goodbyes are bitter ales we drank today I look again, through the smudges of the day We are going to leave behind a trail of smoke A sound like a tired mother calling in her child The train whistle rings in the dusk I take a last look through the window I have said my goodbyes The train begins to move We are leaving the station platform Tears weep down the window Spilling over the imprints of my hand I found myself dry eyed and my throat too tight to speak Finding a place to put the carry-ons People are chatting, settling in Happy, excited, anxious to be departing A thin straight lift and a gray, silvery curve Like a sickle for harvesting the first star… The smoke is a question mark ___________________________________________ "Write A Backwards Poem"