We are finished
for today.
We drag ourselves back to the bunks
in our threadbare pants and shirts.
Wearing (if luck is with us)
old shoes too big for your feet.
Or, if we are clever,
our feet are swaddled in the wrappings
from cement bags.
We trudge through.
It is the only way to get us to our cots.
We are every word for tired.
Some walking with their eyes closed,
letting their feet find their own way.
We are given soup
and struggle to get it down.
We are tired.
Swallowing is yet another task we must undertake.
When my head finally hits the mat,
I close my eyes and sleep comes quickly.
It is a train I have waited for all day.
I jump on.
Grab a window seat.
It will be a short trip.
Morning comes quickly.
My view is always the same.
My mother in the kitchen making pierogi
or turning Bella’s tears to laughter.
My father sitting at the table,
solutions to problems rolling out of his brain
on a conveyor belt.
My brother in his “I’m a man” costume.
It all goes by so quickly,
and then I hear the conductor shout,
“Everybody off.”
It is time to wake up.
Time to repeat yesterday,
and the day before that, and the day before that.
The conductor yells again, “Last stop!”
Everyone begins to stir.
Look at this scene.
My family landscape.
I press my hand to the glass,
try to touch each family member.
It is time to get up.
Time to disembark.
I am always the last one off
the dream train.