Stations
By
Jennifer Angelina Petro
“Have a good one,”
the teller said,
and I wondered
as I carried my bags
to the car:
“Which one? One what?
Why limit yourself
to only one?”
The autumn train
is pulling away from the station
leaving trails of red
and gold in her wake.
Having missed my stop
owing to worry
and a pull to end
my own life, I roam
the Philadelphia streets
looking for someone
to tell me there will be other
ways to get through
the winter stations,
there will be friends
at the end of the line
holding signs and flowers,
there will be an end
to the tears,
and spring will be there
waiting to the do the rest—
waiting to welcome
a good one home.
This poem is incredibly beautiful — one of your best.
Thank you Mandy. <3