After the Day of the Return on the Train
Ask me if I was not sad on those nights.
I was not quite 45,
And I had not quite found the silence.
You lied to me with your eyes that you were silent,
I lied to me with your eyes that you were silent,
The sun lied to us with your eyes after you
had found yourself empty.
Why would we go on dying?
The keyboard was sad to not be the script,
The silence was sad not to be in your eyes,
And you to have been cursed to cover the top of your head in the heat of summer.
We all have our tickets;
The conductor his punch,
And you – you deny that there are stars putting lights in your dreams,
That your place in line is growing,
That the sun is not the sun, and the train is not the train.
What is the silence for goodbye?
---Linda Fretwell, 1998
