Trains

hornsbyplatform5_03[1].jpgFrom Heat to Hiding, Hibernation to Hallucination.
Waking up under the school library and Walking home under lightning.
Through my strange world, I find myself here.
Where is this? This is here.
A bridge lies to the left and a tunnel ends at my right.
Where is here? My house if I can believe my fingers
Before me are a million windows, behind me is a great sea of stairs
But… this is more of a train station.

Look left, Déjà vu. Look right, Jamais vu.

To the left is a person I have never met, yet feel like I have known forever.
He is only a memory, but so strong that I can see him standing beside me.
In fact, so strong that I see night where there should be day,
His fingers gently linked with another, eyes rising to make contact-
A flash of light. He is me.

To the right, at the end of a long, wide tunnel, stands a person I thought I knew.
By hair that shines brilliantly against God’s colourblind masterpiece, I recognise her,
but distance murders her into a mere image that is foreign to my experience.
Her face fades faster and faster behind the light growing ever brighter as she turns-
A shadow so bright. Who is she?

Look left, Déjà vu. Look right, Jamais vu.
Look forward, to the trains
The trains leave the station, no pattern, but with a growing sense of order
An increasingly ominous feeling, that makes me want to look behind.
The more this feeling strengthens, the greater the urgency to turn behind
The trains are leaving faster
I shiver.
To turn behind you must first turn to the side.
The trains are disappearing in greater numbers
To turn behind, you mean to make a choice.
Right or left, Tick tock
The tracks are growing invisible –
Left or right, Tick tock
– Beneath the blue streaks of lightning that the trains have become.
I shake.
The trains are running out.
Turn behind.
Light is running out.
Turn behind.
Time is running out.
Turn behind!
As the clocks prepare to strike, as the judge’s hammer drops, as the last train leaves in a flash of brightness to paint the sky white, as the sun begins to fall towards the horizon, as the shape of a mushroom cloud forms at the end of the tracks; With the whole world falling on its knees –

I turn.
And find myself here.

Alex Herlihy – November 2009

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