Sestinas are fuckin' hard
When I was loud
When I was little I used to love trains,
riding on Toronto’s T with no destination - just swinging
through the bars. It was loud, and fast, and before I knew how to drive: it was freedom.
When I moved, I felt the same. Riding around in circles laughing
my head off; a u-pass, better than a movie ticket.
Now I ride with my head down, swaying with the train, avoiding contact.
I started here, so innocent and excited, just reaching out for contact -
I’d sit down and just start talking. Now they train
you not to, to keep your hands shoved in pockets, like you’re hiding the golden ticket.
Even children walk around quiet and reserved- scolded for swinging
on lamp posts and laughing
too loud and movies even they don’t skip down sidewalks. Now every thing’s lost its freedom.
I hardly leave my apartment anymore, preferring the freedom
and empty space provides. Donning a heavy black hoody before making contact
with the world. Laughter
is risque, meant only for lovers. But even lovers ride trains.
They’ll jump in, holding hands, like they were on a giant swing.
The ride around the loop, tasting their own private moment, only two dollars a ticket.
I used to see parking tickets
and think it was karma for anyone who drove here. Now I miss the freedom
of swinging
your car around corners and playing Avril Lavigne too loud. Leaving your contacts
for those days on the train
where everyone stares and you wonder if everyone is laughing.
I’ll wander around for half an hour, searching for a familiar face, just so I can laugh
with someone. I’ll invite them to my own bubble, the admission ticket
is free. The screaming EL trains
our, soundtrack and our own indifference our, freedom.
The phone has become my life preserver. The only way to contact
an old world where people still smile at each other and use ropes just to swing.
I remember the cabin my family had up north, a giant rope swing
hung out over kelp infested lake. In every picture I’m muddy and laughing.
When I realize how quiet life is. I contact
him, that boy in the picture, and ask if its okay to come visit. I buy a Wolverine ticket.
Six hours to freedom
speeding back through time on an Amtrak train.
Soon I’ll be swinging in the quiet. Where people buy tickets
just for the freedom of riding and for the fun laughing.
I should contact that muddy boy and ask him to visit, he’d love the trains.