C.N.P Poetry 

  • Cathexis Northwest Press

Train

By: Benjamin J. Kirby


Today I heard a train whistle blow

in a town a hundred miles from tracks


Standing at the edge of a forgotten forge

time is the torch that galvanizes meaning


Today I saw a silver car, shimmering with heat

on an ice-bound road, north of Boston


The still of the lathe is breathtaking

the words no longer turn like they used to


Today I wandered through a park

and heard the laugh of a baby who would never know me


The saw, less sharp, the lines, less true

there is no blueprint, no way back home


I shut my eyes and wait for the whistle cry





 

Benjamin J. Kirby is a writer of fiction, essays, and poetry living in St. Petersburg, Florida. His work can be found in Wingless Dreamer, the Lewis County Writer's Guild, and online. Born in western North Carolina and raised in Little Rock, Arkansas, Benjamin lives in St. Petersburg, Florida with his wife and three children.


"Heading out one morning to a coffee shop, I saw a metallic silver car, which looked an awful lot like a rocket ship, on the bed of a truck. As fascinating as it was, I realized I would likely never see that car again. Where was it from? Where was it going? Why? I began to think about the things we encounter, day in and day out, that we will never know, never come in contact with again. The realization is that in addition to an endless forward march, time is cruel to us in a number of ways."