The Rail Yard Poem by Judith Skillman

When she thinks back on it
The place was dull, all gray and tan,
Industrial white, no flavor other
Than the whiff of memory.

The trains would run whether or not
She sat on board with her crochet hook
And the tapestry bag in her lap -
That string of yellow yarn growing

Like a snake beside her.
What is it makes the nights
Longer than the days, makes pain
Unconditional, even as love grows only

Under certain conditions? She knows
There were noises that woke her
Past midnight in her uncle's house. She
Remembers when he took to baking bread -

All his anger over the death of Gail
Held in his fists, pounded into yeast and flour.
When she thinks back it was always
The same city made again many times

As from a cookie cutter - places where
A woman wouldn't want to walk alone.
Whenever she recalls the seedy side
Of the story, it's always the wrong lotto,

Business as usual - snow, slush, or rain.
The schedule holding sway. A full moon
Rising or falling from a sky exactly
The same size, shape, and color as brick.