An approaching horn’s noise
deafens all who have ears.
The platform is shaking
with each feeble pebble
dancing on iron rails.
A woman on the edge,
decked head-to-toe in black;
a lavish purse, dangling,
its hue reminiscent
of her quivering lips.
Heels clacking, fidgeting
on the wooden floor,
mumbling;
What am I doing? Why?
A moment, a stillness;
seconds compressed in time.
A cloud of smoke rolls in.
fog as the train arrives.
God, forgive me ev’rything!
The black mist fades away,
dissipating slowly.
People shift in, shift out.
A red bag lies on the
edge of the platform, stepped
on by foot after foot.
The commotion ensues.
feWRITES 