Once, boarding the train to New York City,
The aisle crowded and all seats filled, I glimpsed
An open space—more pushing, stuck in place—
And then saw why: a man, face peeled away,
Sewn back in haste, skin grafts that smeared like wax
Spattered and frozen, one eye flesh-filled, smooth,
One cold eye toward the window. Cramped, shoved hard,
I, too, passed up the seat, the place, and fought on
Through to the next car, and the next, but now
I wonder why the fire that could have killed him
Spared him, burns scarred over; if a life
Is what he calls this space through which he moves,
Dark space we dared not enter, and what fire
Burns in him when he sees us move away.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEybAt7PewFcwAv_jkxylntuVZylXxKceLmho-K5mKTjmccF8dFnoJNldGykvcX4vxPJ96xkcX8GyUiA7M4iLly3mPkn31Jdc-stZGUdRC5K6_g22ywD1Lf5Qr9x28X_NZJrgw_Z4AC4U/s1600/images.jpg)
Art credit: "Empty BC subway car," image by unknown photographer, posted on NYC the Blog (09/30/08).
Thank you, Ned, this burns in me
ReplyDeleteThis made my heart ache.
ReplyDelete