Monday, October 3, 2005

The St. Charles Line

She sits in a quiet reverence,

a sack of groceries at her side,

riding the St.Charles line home

as she has done every day now

for almost forty years.

The route is mapped out before her,

sights and sound memorized

like the worn photos of her wedding day.

A strange comfort, these clanks and hums,

these breaks in the neutral ground.

She crosses herself as the churches pass by,

hands as delicate and soft as tissue,

as brown as the leaves on the trees passing by

in the bleak light of a late november afternoon

Oak, magnolia and willow,

Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Written by: Steve Miller


poopie said...

Very nice Steve!

Idgie @ the "Dew" said...

I agree with Poopie, very nice poem and thanks for sharing it with us.

Dana said...

Love the poem! Especially the last tow lines. Nice ending.

kenju said...

Lovely picture you've painted.

Anonymous said...

I thoroughly enjoyed this. Good job.