Ghost Tracks

by Annette Marie Smith

There’s an old set of railroad tracks that run along Clark Avenue towards the back of the artists lofts where I live.
They stop abruptly at Harcrest Avenue before they reach us, unable to cross the road, seeming to disappear into the asphalt.
The place where they disappear looks to be the very place for a haunting
which is really a way of remembering
and is far more reassuring than frightening in any way to me.
When there’s a full moon I like to think that silver beams forge a latticework of railroad ties to let the ghost train over.
You can see it pause, taken aback, at its reflection in the real-time train that flashes by on University Avenue.
Then it starts to locomote again and sing its song: remember me, remember me, remember me.

Composition note: Some of the avenue names have been changed. Poetic license.

Sleeping With the Windows Open

cattracks
Image via Tumblr(dot)com

Sleeping with the windows open
the shadows on the wall
and the shifting slanting light
coalesce into dreams
spun with bird song and train whistle alike.
I pull blanket-nets over my head
to catch those dreams leaping like salmon
back into the river Hypnos
and the cold air is like a mother’s voice
telling me to get up
and make something of my day.
The white cat of sleep winks once
and disappears.
— Annette Marie Smith