Writes Claudia Schwarz
The wind had its work cut out today
Transporting people to their version of the universe.
Pushing and pulling
Strings of destiny
But they tend to be stubborn,
Fighting back with the closing of a window
Keeping their minds hidden under an umbrella.
Two dripping shadows, one umbrella
Waiting on platform 3 A
For a train that will never arrive
A leather like suitcase cracked open
On the urine coloured ground
Keeping the violated magazine
With only half its teeth
From pages one to fifteen
There will be time for this tomorrow, they say
Howling at the drops of unopened memories
Punching against the glass.
We’re not ready yet.