When she slept with the window open, she’d listen to the insects and night creatures singing, and feel her body, potent beyond what she knew
and she’d listen to the night train moving across the distant horizon. She’d imagine the passengers sitting there, dreaming a little, looking out the window at the dark which reflected
only their own pale faces, distorted by the grime and the lights from the towns the train moved through. Sometimes as she lay there
on her back, in the deep breaths just before sleep, she could see the sparks from the wheels of that train fly out from its engine, up into the night, like sparklers at a picnic on a warm summer evening
or stars in some universe that was just being born as that train moved on through the darkness.
Michael Hettich has published a dozen books of poetry and an equal number of chapbooks. His most recent book, The Mica Mine, won the Lena Shull Book Award and was published by St. Andrews University Press in 2021. He lives with his family in Black Mountain, NC. His website is michaelhettich.com.
