Opportunity's Crossroads

Image: National Park Service

At midnight

a train whistle blew

in a distant land

signaling its approach

to a lonely crossroads.

Sleeping cattle

slept.

I stirred

and began

wondering about crossings.

Criss cross,

to be cross,

crossed,

cross stitch,

crossed wires in the interpretation

of suffering as the cross’ sacred symbology.

For a time

I believed myself distracted

by the tracks of our Story

that I’ve walked

in your chestnut eyes.

Later,

I realized

that I hadn’t been

dis-tracked at all.

The hobo poets

had it right.

Only children and fools

wave as Opportunity

chugs by.

And, I have heard

The Whistle.

© 2010/Jamie K. Reaser