NaPoWriMo 14


At South Station, multitudes of passengers
pass through the commuter rail doors without
thought of stale air and spring colds,
the sneeze in the hand, the clearing of a throat
released into the recycled air, left behind
like The Boston Globe on an empty seat
waiting for the next person
to pick up up and pass it along.
The impressions of a hundred thousand
strangers now stored in my cellular memory,
their imprintable truths passed along
door handles and seat backs, along
the railings as we all hold on for dear life.
Eyes vacant and oblivious to the distances
we travel with our subatomic detritus,
how thin the threshold from inside
to outside and back again,
how this world lives on in us,
and we forever live in it.


Anonymous said…
i too always think of "the sneeze in the hand"... :) good one here!
January said…
Thanks Jennifer! :) I was trying to work in an image of a kids germs but couldn't make it work. That's a poem for a different day.
Priya said…
I love this! It really inspired my NaPoWriMo poem for today. :) I especially like the descriptions in the first 8 lines.

Priya (Maya Ganesan's sister) :D
Jessie Carty said…
really love this one January :) I could see this as an opening to a book or series.

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