by Mathew Thorburn
First a woman in a tattered
blue overcoat Father mistakes her
for Mother I’m sorry I’m sorry
then a girl looks in my face
like a mirror so cold so hard
to remember who we wait for
in the dark last week’s news
tied with twine beside the trash
rubbish Grandfather would say
giving his paper a shake
but he died years ago
they broke the presses last week
now comes morning snow
falling on snow which means
winter and this skinny boy
who hops in a puddle his pale legs
are the first sign of spring
have you noticed how the years
go by first one and then
another then another the last train
clattering away in a gray hurry
it’s alright to imagine
that bare-legged boy is me
the way he stands so still now
beside the dark station
because there is no train because
all that’s left to see is how
tightly he hugs his violin case
how carefully I grip mine
as if they hold our hearts.
