Tram Poem by Ewa Lipska

In the palm of my hand I hold this landscape
I cover by tram. Line number one.
I feel the iron of wheels. Submissive strips of rail.
Like an educational toy.
A girl gives up her seat for me.
As we round the bend language overturns.
Syllables fall from a mouth.
A crude screech.
"Enjoy it while it lasts, child,
enjoy this moment. This tram. This further."
But not the Furthest. This much I know.
Your gray hair is already waiting
at the end of the line.
I am still seated
as your white cane gets off
supporting my prophecy.
"I am talking to you, child"
The girl laughs. What a joke,
the passengers say: life love death.
And when the tram reaches the stop
its brakes are still laughing.