Midnight Crossing

I count the cars
At the midnight crossing
Feel the wind stir
Unzipping the dark cornfield.

I listen to thunder
Laden with coal
Hewn from rich veins
In Southern Illinois.

Graffiti, like words afire
Scrawl across each surface
Bright orange and red
Green and black
Blaze in the wash of headlights
And pulsing warning flashers.

Windows down, radio off
The hypnotic rhythm of the train
Crescendos in the night
I, the sole audience.

Certain scents ride a strong memory
Diesel and corn
Broken clods and mown hay
The musk of sweat
And an mysterious something
I thought was lost
Returns to me here.

Was it that night at the carnival, in ‘73
Suspended over the park
Rocking together
In The Spinner?
I was so sure then.

Maybe the gulf, in ‘86
Lying on the rocks
Faces skyward
The ballast of a thousand ships
At our feet?

The autumn of ‘95
At the Café de Monde
Bursting with life?

Listen.
Listen.
Because suddenly, it is silent.
The red light on the last car
Blinks
Blinks
Disappearing
Into the night.

I am alone with memories
Awkward in their company.
I am a poor host
And a poorer steward.
But I must recover the source of
That prodigal scent.

And suddenly it returns to me.
Restored by a coal train
At a midnight crossing.

Putting the car into gear
I bump across the steel ribbon
Still hearing the squeal of steel on steel
Remembering that distant time and place
Knowing I will spend the rest of the night
Trying to forget.