August 13, 2020

Offboarding

Not at this pace. I cannot make out the truth

through the blur of rush, the hurried, harried,

headlong whir of Forward, Onward – NOW!

No. I want to circle back, back to that doe I 

glimpsed in the meadow you missed because 

you looked down for 2.5 seconds as the train

barreled ahead, breaking the necks of who

knows how many creatures more intimately

acquainted with limits and the instinct for

self-preservation. The irony is not lost on me

as I contemplate how to jump off this blind

iron horse with my own neck still intact. If I

somehow manage the feat, I'll take to the 

pace of my human feet – akin to the pace of

my human heart – and return to that meadow,

follow the doe's tracks to the tree-lined edge,

where perhaps she has stowed her dappled

twin fawns in the understory, where grass

warblers flit in and out of shadow, feeding

on insects grown on the riches cast off by 

earthworms turning, churning soil below.