sometimes train whistles hold hands,
warming palms.
preheating cast iron to cook eggs,
when bodies dream of pancakes.

sit forward.
watch each rattling car sing of gods
promising strawberries in glass bowls.
hot coffee.
fresh cream.
burrs stuck to shoelaces.

sit back.
sometimes trains get closer.
dark blue coffee cups crack.
babies breath hangs by strings.
full stomachs mask empty hands.

sit still.
hear caboose sing heavy lullabies.
dirty blankets trapping heat.
sort burrs into piles.
sip water from cupped hands.

reach out.
stand up.

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*33/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.

**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic.