Poem #63 of 365

I am shivering back in Dallas
and the scratchy upholstered
seat on Flight 415 now seems
so long ago

as i step up to a glass partition
that breaks some of the cold-chill
wind as i wait for the last train at night.

I am alone, there are no other people and
it is the stars and parking lot lights
that keep me warm inside and bright

until i step up to a red lump on the
platform, inert and breathless, a red-combed
cardinal in its death.

He must have made a mortal mistake,
slapping into the glass walls that now
make my wait sufferable. I step up
and stare down at its plumage,
seemingly primped for a burial

yet I know that abandoned souls
on the tarmacs and platforms
of this world often get overlooked
and certainly stepped over

despite the beloved chirps we once
freely shared from the highest of treetops
unencumbered by plate glass
and late-train schedules.

And so i sing, i sing to the bird,
to the twinkling sky,
and the parking lot lights,
and the coin-machine fixtures,

and there is no waiting anymore.


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez