Leaving the Train
by Elizabeth Neely Clauser


It pulled and lulled, a long
underscore for endless meadows,
towns of stone and thatch,
a turquoise scarf--not sky--
what the woman across wore
that shimmered in my window.
But that color is yours:
necklace, candlesticks, paper flower,
yours as these valleys you'd scratch
under my shoulder blades.
You were the one who knew my mind.
Now in the station, at my stop,
the speaker says to mind the gap;
it widens terribly--you're gone.


Please send us your comments, including the name of the work you are commenting on.

Don't want to miss out? Contact us and we'll send you an e-mail message announcing each new issue. (Be sure to see our Privacy Policy.)

Copyright © 1999-2006 by Amarillo Bay. All rights reserved.
Individual works are copyrighted by their authors.