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Trains and Window Collection
Jack Conte
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๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
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It was a tired morning
And the sky yawned as I bought a one-way ticket to Salt
Lake City and boarded the 8:05 Amtrak headed Northeast
The train dipped in and out of the empty gorges whose walls were
Still black from the dynamite blasts that once dug them out of the
Ground, and the window collected the broken images outside (whose
Only purpose left in the physical world was to entertain the endless
Parade of Amtrak voyeurs passing hour after hour through the valley)
A dead sofa, a gasping tire
And a hoodless Dodge with no wheels
That sat sunken in the red California clay
Unimpressed, the train marched forward with a pointed tenacity
Matched only on occasion by a sad artist or an unemployed father of
Three who planted themselves firmly on the tracks and surrendered
Quietly as the train delivered them back to the City of
Ashes, where we're all from, and where we're all eventually going
Then in an instant the sun set
And the yellow dusted shadows froze grey
And dusk swallowed the whole valley without remorse
Because of course there's nothing really to swallow
It's just motion: the motion of a steel train and its wide-eyed
Passengers who watch the moments collect one by one on their
Windows, blending seamlessly into
An animation, fleeting and fictional
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