The Runaway Conductor
wraps the memories of her in sawdust snow. Lips to wet asphalt, gold pins for tears on the statues across the altar. The gods have always been waiting. The sum of wind and divine will is a hollow mirror. In the mountain. At the flick of his wrist. Before the wrong train and the percussions in metal. For another man she raced through infinite wounds and fists in a monsoon forest. Hands tied to her lover's for a dance, a roulette of paper cranes exploding across the sky. Cascaded into the sea of black eyelashes. How they shutter around the glass bottom boat as he throws the frayed ropes. This is the country of an older name for her departure, an eternal maze he would never exit. This his reward for abandoning the train.
|
9
favs |
1390 views
9 comments |
135 words
All rights reserved. |
Author's Note
Originally published in Thrush Poetry Journal, Sept 2012.
Other stories by Nicolette Wong
Tags
Comments
You must
log in
to post comments.
"a roulette of paper cranes" - Like.
spectacular.***
I love thinking about this "runaway conductor" and love the final line.
"This his reward for abandoning the train."
I remember this piece -
"The gods have always been waiting. The sum of wind and divine will is a hollow mirror. In the mountain. At the flick of his wrist. Before the wrong train and the percussions in metal."
Strong work. I like. *
Ach, so many lush images. Love it. *
Yes. That is all. Just yes.
Oh god this is gorgeous.
wonderful, big ups. *
YES YES YES YES YES. I read this one out loud a few times. I so love every line.