Stepping into Darkness

For Laura Bloomsbury’s prompt at dVerse Poets Pub – Making Much of Madness. Most of you know I have been grieving the deaths of my mother and two friends who committed suicide last June.This is a poem I wrote earlier and have taken it and revamped it. The suicide in this poem is the late great chef, Anthony Bourdain. a good friend. Graphic Suicide Verbiage in Poem.

Stepping Into Darkness
“I know, too, that death is the only god who comes when you call.” ― Roger Zelazny, Frost & Fire

No one knew his thoughts
as he stepped off the edge of the tub
and fell into infinity,
the tie around his neck,
his legs kicking,
the breath being cut off from his heart and brain,
his last thought as his heart lurched and stopped –
*you can keep my things, they’ve come to take me home.
It had been building through the years –
Depression deepening,
The spaces between pure laughter
and love of life widening.
You could see it building in his eyes.
One day, he did it.
He ripped off a tie from the hanger in his closet.
He tied it around his neck
And then to the shower rod –
you can keep my things, they’ve come to take me home.

* line from Solsbury Hill

WE CAN ALL HELP PREVENT SUICIDE. The Lifeline provides 24/7, free and confidential support for people in distress, prevention and crisis resources for you or your loved ones, and best practices for professionals. 1-800-273-8255

dVerse Poetics: Trains

All aboard!  Today Bjorn is the conductor for our Poetics prompt of Trains at dVerse Poets Pub.  Come join us for train tales and travels.  I haven’t been on a train in a few years but when I lived on Long Island and in Philadelphia, I was a regular on commuter trains to and from my destination.  And even further back in time, before the routes and owners changed, traveled on the Orient Express from Paris to Venice and from Paris to Budapest.  Get your ticket punched and join us on our Train Poetry Journey.  http://dversepoets.com/2016/04/05/poetics-wheels-of-steel/

public domain image

The Haunted Platform
every morning – same time –
onto the train to my assigned seat.
we all have our seats where we always go –
same seat every day.
the two men behind me smelling
of coffee and CKOne and Hermes Terre
in front of me the blonde woman
who piles her laptop and brief bags into the seat
beside her so no one will be beside her.
I do the same thing, I always settle
in and pull out my tablet and read the paper online
while drinking from my travel mug of coffee.
on the way home –
same people same seats
eyes all closed or on their laptops
finishing tasks or a head start on new.
the smell of bourbon replaces the morning smell of coffee.
in the morning stopping at the various platforms
car fills up.
in the evening stopping at platforms
car empties.
at the platform where the train never stops
there used to be a sign hanging announcing the stop.
last year the sign was hanging by one hook
swinging fitfully in the wind: MAYF ELD
the sign fell earlier this year face down and
now soiled by weather and mud.
a bench is on the platform broken at down at one end
and the back bent at that end.
Yesterday a man(?) was lying on the bench
back presented to the track –
cold rain and snow swirled and as the train
blew past the platform where the trains never stop
faded dirtied ancient newspaper pages and trash
blew up in the air and then settled back into their place.
this morning the man(?) is still there covered with snow.
one of the men says behind me:
hey, that guy is still there and his companion
(I can imagine him looking up owlishly from his laptop)
says “hunh?”
on the way home with the train windows flashing like
yellow strobes in the darkness
I see broken images of the man(?) clicking past –
still there, covered with more snow.
at home, late at night, I awaken and shiver with cold.
across the few miles I hear the sound of the train
roaring past on the tracks and it’s horn as it
approaches an intersection.
I wonder if the man(?) is still there in the darkness.
a chill I cannot control causes me to break out
in a sweat and in the darkness
I press myself closer against my sleeping husband.
I wonder if the man(?) is still there in the darkness
covered with deepening snow.