train station

As she got off the train in Memphis,

she understood what it meant

to hear the dirge of a heart with

a single look into the eyes.

He leaned against a snack machine

as she clambered off the car

with a suitcase in each fist,

searching the sea for her city friend.

He stared ahead blankly, not tasting

a pair of pink Sno-ball cakes,

as a dark crescent moon

descended down each cheek.

Bodies bustled into his line of sight,

but they merely bounced away,

never penetrating his solitude.

Why her parents let her board

the train alone at age eleven

is a mystery to her,

but she prays for the man still,

thirty-seven years later.