The train had announced
her stop twice already,
but she stayed seated.
She had no plan beyond
this seat, no errand
waiting at the station,
no one to call when she
arrived. Outside the
window, the town unfolded
in patches of sunlight
and laundry lines, and
she watched it the way
you watch a movie you
have already seen twice.
She thought about the
rooms waiting for her at
home, the rug that still
held the shape of a
chair no one sat in
anymore, the mug she
kept forgetting to wash.
Each stop the train
offered felt like a
question she had not
earned the right to
answer.
When the train finally
emptied her onto a
platform she did not
recognize, she stood
still for a long time,
breathing the dust and
the diesel, surprised to
find her own feet
carrying her somewhere.
Not lost, exactly. Just
somewhere that was not
yet hers.