Train Poem by Euginia Tan

The train unloads
Its baggage of weary travelers
At each stop. I hear it
Sigh as it opens
Its doors for everyone to spill forth.
In all direction.

Some of them mill about
And cross the platform
To be packed inside
Another carriage of similar dimension,
Going the other way.
The train is not in a hurry.

You ought not to be frantic
Or in a buzz, because
It is not your right.
Whomsoever breaks this code
Of train ethic, that is his plight.
The train is a sanctuary wherein
We must maintain our calm.
Composure.

When it rumbles forward
We grab a rail. We do not stumble.

I was on the train once.
It was late. Human traffic was but
Myself, three degenerates.
Diagonally, I could detect
Another stray lone figure leaning
In another cabin, close enough
For both of us to study the other's
Profile. Acknowledge with a nod.
A flicker at the mouth. Was it a smile?

The three stooges on the bench
However, did not so much as look up.
Their matted hair and tousled clothes -
Which was which? I could not know.
There was no sound made. As I said,
Keep your quiet on the tracks. Relax
Your guard. You do not keep sentinel in here.
Or do you?

The three huddled figures slouched so closely
Together. I would have liked to add on
To their messy human sandcastle
And we would be known as the
Travelling train quartet.
I could look as disheveled.
I could keep my eyes on the floor
And my head in my hood. I could do that.

I stared and envied the warmth they
Emanated side by side for each other.
Whilst I felt the tips of my fingers
Tingle with an unknown gale of cold.
I stared. They did not move.
They did not shuffle a foot.
Or even look up to ask me gruffly
What I was looking at…

Someone holds my hand. Tugs.
Gently, it is not a forceful gesture.
The other solitary figure.
He smiles. He, unlike me,
Has warm palms. He whispers in my ear.
He says let us both get out at the next stop.
I wait for him to seduce me
With a mon cherie, some kind of flattery,
But his words end there.

He is commanding because
Even though I shake my head,
As the doors open he leads me out.
I think of possibilities.
I think of waking up in this stranger's bed
Childishly charming and deliriously dizzy
With the enticement of the night.
But he looks me square in the eye
With a trace of jadedness I did not note.
Before.
He is gravely handsome.
I am held captive by his somber mood.
The stubble on his scholarly jaw.

He holds me to his chest.
I am rendered helpless.
Suddenly I am aware.
He has been frightened.
He is taking in gulps of air.
He wants to clear his head.
He wants to tell me something
Filled with dread.
I wait for him to speak.
I do not loosen my wrap around his embrace.
He feeds on my stoic strength,
Finds a moment to inhale again. Seconds before
He breaks it to me,
"My dear, I am a medical student.
The man seated in the middle of the three.
He was dead."