scaggy bits of behind-fences
scan past, scad by
on the side of the train track
and I see the torso of
a dead deer or kangaroo that had
too many ribs too close together
and some of the skin was still there
my unuttered scream
is trapped somewhere in my chest
or at the base of my neck
an anxious vapour, a cloying veil
I am so afraid I can’t cut through
and share the poignancy of the world
beside the railway or
the pink clouds over the ocean
that are the colour of a ribbon for a girl
a pink ribbon that would show a spatter of blood
bright red at first then fading to brown,
rusty like dirt like old wounds like
dusk of the golden hour like
Sunday on the shortest day of the year
as evening closes down like
unshed tears, a stain
somewhere near my heart
a red-brown patch that
will never be washed away
do you know this feeling. Do you? Do you
do you unweep, unscream
and hold that feeling, yes that one
in your body
on a train?
Photo by Emile Guillemot on Unsplash
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