On the platform, the carriage rumbles like a leaf in the autumn wind, dying,
and the ticket in my pocket is an escape from prison through a window;
fields flash past outside the window, and I imagine quiet melting snow,
which gives us its light every morning, like a tasty popsicle.
Inside the carriage, someone’s telling a story about love that was sold,
and the old woman beside me whispers: “Grandson, would you like some meat?”
And joy wells up in my heart — how long has it been since I’ve eaten meat!
I gather in my palms the words they used to call me before,
and they were true.
We’re heading to where our home is — where death awaits you and me,
and every station is like a point of no return;
in my bag is my old, dead phone,
and I know: it’s not just the tracks that lead home — you do, too.
And together, you and I will shatter to dust at fate’s crossroads.
Death Train
© Copyright: Вероника Логунова, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126061304633
Свидетельство о публикации №126061304633
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