Mute In The Night

Most nights I dream of trains. Platforms
punctuate journeys with fleeting glances
and slow motion moments; some stop –
others just slow as they pass.
In the waiting room, we bide our time,
hoard it up so we’re rich with minutes,
seconds to spare when the doors shut
and the wheels start to turn. The carriages,
coupled on Sundays, slog out the last ride home
past vacant houses laid out beside the tracks,
unblinking and mute in the night. They shake awake
at 5am on weekdays: the wild grass shudders
as the coaches pass by, disgruntled and sleepy,
lost in a dream, or reality. In the dilapidation of years,
we forgot to stamp and date our thoughts
like the orange tickets that bookmark our beds.
Every night I’m sure I lose a second when I blink.
Most nights I dream of trains.

Kylie Rogers is a poet and novelist currently residing in Sheffield. Her writing is concerned with memory, dwelling and occasionally all things bread and dough related, since she works part-time as a baker.