Holly Thompson-V

Trans-Siberian  

 

 

 

never one to nap

she closes her journal

sets it beneath a book

on the folding table

between the bunks

then turns onto her stomach

to watch the vast land

glide by outside the window

 

the others are asleep

as low sun streams in

a whole transcontinental

trainful of people

in evident slumber

 

she stands

slips out of the compartment

and lets the door slide shut

behind her

 

in fact there are others

down the train car aisle

standing solo, staring out

watching the land from this

the shadow side

 

she brings her hand up

and touches a fingertip

to the glass, drawing a line

across the terrain, etching herself

onto the leafy country

they’re passing through—

already forgotten

already past