The Train from Eternity's Sunrise by Peter Ostrowski

The man across the aisle to me reads a folded paper.
The woman in the seat in front in headphones stares outside.
There must be someone I can speak to,
Someone who’ll explain.
But it seems that no one knows
Anything about this train.
How many years, how many miles
Have we been rolling down these endless tracks
With no memory of boarding?
Did we wish to get somewhere?
Was there a town where we were heading?
Or did I only want to watch
The cows and hedges pass?
Did I ever sit upon some platform
Waiting for this train?
Where is it that I journey from?
I have no destination.

Sunset, dawn, summer, winter,
Blazing sun and foggy hillsides,
Cities, fields, forests, coast roads, mountains all around.
And yet in all these years I’ve travelled,
I have never passed a station
Which appears to be a place
That I should recognise.
The gates are different, the townscape’s changed.
We’ve stopped but I can’t leave the train,
I have no bag in the seat beside me,
I’m going nowhere.

I search in my top pocket for the ticket I must have.
I find it in the folds of a photocopied street map.
I look for where and when I bought it,
And if it has been clipped.
The ticket says “Creation”
In smudged and faded print.
I show it to the woman pushing the refreshments trolley.
She smiles as she reads it,
Hands it back then moves along.
There must be someone I can talk to,
Someone who’ll explain.
But it seems that no one knows
Anything about this train.

• Folk
• Rock
• chanson
• literate
• scifi
• Wickford