::cling::

on this train platform
amtrak flashes past in shiny silver
and screeches and moans
as the crowds push toward slowing doors
and line up with their soft duffel bags
and genaric rolly-suitcases

and suddenly i am under the kitchen table,
looking up at the blue check cotton tablecloth
and down at unfamiliar feet.
blurry-eyed and three years old,
i can only see the bottom of the back door
that closed with an eternal thud like abandonment.
mommys are the world,
babysitters are the devil,
and no amount of
legos-pizza-cinderella
could move these stubborn toddler bones
from their rubbery-limbed embrace
of the tableleg
and the dead weight of bodily rebellion,
refusal to lift from the flowered linoleum floor.

without waiting for the second hand
to tick tick tick up toward twelve
to mark the top of the next minute,
i feel the woosh of sliding thudding abandoning doors
and you pull away from the station
amtrack logo and all

and the train windows are coffeebrown,
too dark to pick out a familiar face,
and mirrored.
i see my rubbery emotional face
and kick the yellow line that keeps me safe
from the wheels of the train.