The words of this poem were written to the beat of a train clunking along the track.
A Woman’s Journey
She sat alone and staring through the window
of the carriage as she listened to the clattering
of wheels against the track.
The repetitive monotony reflective of her history;
the drudgery and blandness she had come now to expect.
Inquisitiveness seized me as I thought about the stories
she could tell me of the life that she had lived.
Tales of broken marriages, perhaps, or just an
anecdote or two about the woes of rearing children
in the throes of adolescence, or the work she’d
undertaken just to earn an honest crust.
And still she heard the clattering of wheels against the track.
Her face was lined with evidence of times that she
remembered with reluctance, for the substance of
existence hadn’t been a fine experience.
Her eyes, when studied closely, told a story of ‘if onlys’
and the loneliness was swimming in the moisture of her tears.
It was clear there had been prettiness before the
claws of bitterness and time, with its relentlessness,
had rubbed away her youth.
Her hair was clean and ordinary, scraped into a pony-tail,
and where the dull light caught it showed a greyness at the roots.
Her hands were creased and leathered; nails short and water-weathered,
and her mouth, without expression, kept her secrets tight within.
She held her head indifferently and stayed within her sanity.
Her fingers stroked protectively the quiver of her chin.
A shiver went right through me as I pitied her existence,
wishing I could make a difference to her life of disenchantment.
She looked at me defiantly. I held her anger quietly.
And still she heard the clattering of wheels against the track.
Then staring at her candidly, I asked of her the question.
But the woman didn’t answer,
as I gazed at my reflection.
Moving Poems 
Love the rhythm of this. I can hear the click and clack, matching her heartbeat.
And that ending. Whew. Wonderful.
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Thank you De. Glad you got the end 🙂
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She held her head indifferently and stayed within her sanity.
Her fingers stroked protectively the quiver of her chin.
Such a whole lot of power and emotion here in your lines…!!
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Thank you, Sanaa
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What great empathy and imagination you have.
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Thank you, Mary.
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Oh the stories held inside the faces we meet when traveling. Each a story underneath that shell.
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Thank you, Bjorn
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Shirley, such a brilliant narrative poem with an ending that answered my questions. The underlying pain that screamed in the pauses and refrain could only come from someone who knew the story behind the water-weathered face. Beautiful.
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Thank you, Victoria – but would hasten to assure twas not biographical 🙂
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The ending is an unexpected twist Shirley ~ Love the reflections of one’s life ~
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Thank you, Grace.
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I do that a lot to…write fiction that others think is autobiographical. You can get a lot of free counseling that way! :0)
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Haha – I know the feeling 🙂
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Love the repeated refrain of hearing the wheels on the tracks…and wonderful shift of 3rd to 1st person perspective at the end.
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Thank you, Bryan.
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