K e l l y F o r d o n
On the Train I Thought of Chagall
I saw a long line of cars.
I saw a big white house.
The ground was mottled
and abraded like
the back of a buffalo.
I saw a chicken coop,
a muddy ditch,
the padded cell
of the sky.
I saw a hunting blind,
a telephone polls
ratcheting arms,
coal silos,
sand silos,
yards like ratty bath
towels, abandoned
sand boxes.
No green man.
No benevolent cow.
No villagers whistling and
hoisting sickles.
No multi-colored houses.
No woman waltzing
on the wind, Chagall.
It was the morning after,
the tough rows to hoe,
the scrub brush of babies
and midnight feedings,
Kansas before the witch’s
stockings and the wizard’s
charade. No tree of life,
just my chalky fingers
on the window pane,
just my face pressed
against the glass.
guest editor: Sara Biggs Chaney