Trains pass by like hurried
strangers shattering
their way through the silence
echoing on the face
of this mountain
a reminder of the lifeblood
drained from the mines
empty and solemn,
tombs without resurrection.
The cars cloaked with the symbols
of restless adolescence in other
places passing on their way
beyond here, flickering
like movies on an old reel,
red rust and yellow characters
flashing before us who haunt
this corridor, empty of meaning.
They tell tales of lost men
and we understand.
We are generations
invisible on our own soil
drowning in decisions
of those who live afar
and tell us who we aren’t.
And over the miles
a dozen times a day
we signal to each other
the horrors of loss
the affliction of alienation
abandonment and no escape,
frustration that fills us
with righteous rage.
~ Rae Carpenter
A poem must not only be condensed language to express a feeling or an idea, it must also have meaning and invoke in the reader a sense of that which the poet expresses. I wrote this poem to show the deep connection between the forgotten young men in the inner cities who make their marks on the trains and the forgotten young men in Appalachia who watch the trains pass them by. Both lost in forgotten landscapes where poverty runs deep and lost connections create a sense of alienation.
Outstanding, Rae. Great work.
That's a lovely story.