The Conductress

I road the train.

A journey, a long needed trip.
Alone, I took it alone,
though I gathered companions along the way.
Ate sweet potatoes in creamed spinach
took video of the plateaus and dusty, forlorn spaces.

Slept and snored and still was labeled a beauty.
Seeing the rapture in a stranger's eyes as they listen
to me. Just talk. Just share and walk
and wonder and ask them what they know.
This is how conversations go, I'd forgotten.
The give and take and on and off of it.

Through us I had learned to regret such important pieces
of who I am, what makes me ME.
Me, Alexandria. That girl woman you once adored.
Strapped your heart to.
I lashed mine on, too. Tis true.
To the train; watched it travel and rumble on through.
Green green, go. You can pass through.

When it derailed, it was simply picked up and placed back.
No need to talk about why it ran through.
That was wrong, you see.
When things get wonky, it's valuable to work it through.
Take note of the lessons and commit to starting anew.
Maybe you did, maybe we did.

Ignored the damn signs.
The red flags looked pink and blurry. Thought it was my heart exploding aloud,
screaming YES, yes, pick me, Mr. Conductor.
That train we were on.
Forgot I am my own Captain, too. Call the shots, map the routes.
Avoid the snow and deer and elk and buffalo.
The branches and other trains and broken tracks.
I lost sight of the horizon, of the mountains I was headed to.

But now, the clouds have parted.
It might still be misty,
but I've never been leery of dew.
Some times you have to rest a while, keep the brakes on.
Steady the cars and revel in the view.

Not quite broken, not exactly mended
but on my way all the same.
Chugging along and singing a song.
I still dance, too. No strain in my step.

And not that it matters, but others see it.
Compliment the coverings and proclamations
that I am. The Conductress I am now.
Before you. Driving this train of mine through and through.
Can you believe it, my dear?
Surviving and thriving and 30.
Me. Me! Who'd a thunk it?

Perhaps it's a silly rhyme to make and maybe it is,
but not each note will hit just right.
The poetry it flows and flows.
And this train,
on it I go.
I am, I am. On this train.
All by myself, you see?

The journey, the journey. This map is taking me home.
To who I am, who I will be.
I can't look back, can't give you attention or answers, you see?
Don't try to reach me.
I'm on a trip, on a train.
Different directions, maybe. No longer shared connections.
Goodbye, beloved, goodbye.
All aboard, all aboard. Just not you.
There's room only for one.
To converse and roll on and be free as a mother*ucker. Free.