the end of the world

This story is true.



I love every train
for the sound of its wheels
there's an ache in my chest
that it heals

but for you
it's the sound of the end of the world

the driver stomps hard on the brakes a block early
and calls out
"last stop for the red line!
last stop for the red line!"
until all of us spill out, confused,
to round the corner on a street
flanked with fire engines, sirens;
commuters perspiring, turned away from Berwyn's gates
I gaze up at the platform, the train's gaping doors,
the uniformed men's heavy steps on the boards
they have summoned a piece of the world's end for you
our red line halts in mourning for yours

cause for you it's the end of the world

a man tells me you hurled
yourself onto the tracks
a woman, he says, old or young, white or black he can't say
no one there knows your name
and I say, it's a shame
it's a shame

that for you it's the end of the world

once I listened to Metra conductors
discussing
another world ended
by metal momentum, they said
in the moment before you were dead
you looked the train conductor in the eye
you made it her business
you made her bear
witness

and all I'll say is, it's a shame

because men lay tracks
and men build engines
and men write schedules
but God made trains
because all of his children have somewhere to go

and I weep as I walk down the street, cause I know
that for you it's the end of the world.