by Rose Jermusyk.
She had come so far already, left her beloved highlands in the old country, crossed an ocean hoping the grass really was greener.
She went to church with neighbors who had come before her, but she was on her own. All alone and always in transit between her boarding room at the farm and the big house she’d been hired to clean and church where folks spoke familiar words. Always on one train or another.
Katunkadunk.
Katunkadunk.
Katunkadunk. The train and all her bones rattling toward the next destination. Always alone. Always fending for herself in a strange land full of rushing people.
Katunkadunk.
Katunkadunk.
Katunkadunk. A young man appeared next to her. She moved over politely to allow him more room.
Katunkadunk.
Katunkadunk. The young man brushed against her. She moved a little more.
Katunkadunk. The young man rubbed against her. She moved all the way to the back of the car.
Katunkadunk. The young man moved toward the back of the car. She moved on to the next car.
Katunkadunk. The young man followed her to the next car. She continued on to a third car.
Katunkadunk. He followed her from one car to the next. She continued to move away from him.
Katunkadunk. The young man asked where she was headed. She knew no words that he would understand.
Katunkadunk. The young man asked for a kiss. She had no words that he would heed.
Katunkadunk. The young man followed her to the final car. She stood on the back platform of the final car.
Katunkadunk. The young man tucked some stray hair behind her ear. She watched the tracks flow out from underneath the train.
Katunkadunk. The young man moved his hand down her back to her waist. She decided the train wasn’t going all that fast.
Katunkadunk. The young man looked at her dumbfounded before stepping back into the car. She walked along the tracks as the train rolled ever further out of reach.
She would catch another train at the next station. She who was always in transit. She whose bones yet rattled.