by Katya Mills
one
October
of fallen apples
bored by worms
green
and reddish
moon
orchards the color
of dying
soon
a locomotive
emerged from a mist
hauling rusted boxcars
through town
unmarked
like a tombstone
slate
telling nothing
of a poor man’s
fate
the earth
trembled
the spider
clutching
its web
she rumbled down the rails
across the cemetery grounds
raising bodies from eternal slumber
racking her bones
along the factory
row
dusty faded
brick and mortar
façades
trailed by packs
of snaggle-tooth
hounds
sparking her irons
with arduous
howls
i came to consciousness
in my bed
the only light
the wood eating
flames
the tall windows
holding back
torrential
rains
absorbing
her engine steam
smoke-white
grains
a chilling shrill whistle
dropped to baritone
then bass
drew me out
treacherously
nonsensically
to the streets
in my overcoat
shivering
i watched her
go by
the crossings
deferential
somehow
like an invitation
how silent
the bells
painted gates
wide open
red lights
dormant
suddenly
i felt myself
edging some
precipice
one gasp
and
i had taken
my last
my body
sheet white
fell limp
in the dirt
snagged like a
vagabond
neck ina
noose
i grasped
these iron rungs
in the wind
with heaving
lungs
oh ghost train
what terrors
you hold
framing the landscape
in burning
cold
oh scarecrow
what terrors you seen
hung up
in cornfields
where the murders
been
someone
please
will you?
light a candle
for the lost
to find their way
through the frost
toll a bell
for the ones
left behind
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