• lenten journal: fellow traveler

    by  • April 14, 2014 • lenten journal, poetry • 0 Comments

    the last one on the plane and
    he took the last seat between me
    and the young soldier on his way home

    the old man had white curls under
    a pork pie hat, thin black glasses,
    a white shirt under a tweed sportscoat
    his pants fastened where waists used to be

    he aimed his conversation at the soldier
    out of my ear shot, though I heard
    him tell he had once served as well

    they talked till we all dozed off.
    I turned once to look at him and
    saw him smiling in his sleep
    and imagined he was dreaming

    of coming home long ago
    on a spring night not as stormy,
    train coming into the station and he

    leaning out the window to catch
    a glimpse of her on the platform
    shining in that pink dress — the same one
    she wore the first time he said he loved her.

    Peace,
    Milton

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