Musings on the Return Train – IRN 347 / Car 2 / Seat 68 / Sighișoara → București Nord

I board the train, and do my best to find my seat, but the numbering is inconsistent / some affixed with a sticker, some scrawled with a marker / passengers watch my Quixotic struggle / after several minutes I give up and sit in an empty seat / the ticket checker walks by me / I start to turn on my phone, but he motions his hand—No need

Outside the train is cold and grey / flowers are starting to bloom on the trees / the season is on the cusp of winter and spring / a liminal time, like me on the train

I carry three books in my bag, but I haven’t cracked one of them / they remind me of goals that I am ignoring / instead of reading, I have been writing, playing a phone game, and scrolling through social media

Late winter is when nature looks its worst / the ground is a patchy green and muddled brown / bare branches look like uncombed hair / the fields are empty and barren / nature needs time to get itself ready

The steady amble of the train on the tracks cha-chunk cha-chunk cha-chunk / the silence of lulled passengers mmmmmmmmmmmm / the sharp whistle piercing the calm WRRRrrrrrrrrr WRRRrrrrrrrrr

We pass through a tunnel / outside goes black / like shutting your eyes and trusting that your sight will be restored when you open them

A woman walks her small dog up and down the aisle…

I have been living out of my travel bag for six days / my head and face need a shave / my fingernails need clipping / I am starting to go feral / at the moment, nature and I are not at our best

The woman with the small dog uses the bathroom / her dog whimpers and wanders up and down the aisle / a kind girl pets the dog and comforts it / the dog comes to me, and I scratch its back, trying to reassure it / don’t worry, you have not been forsaken / the woman reemerges and the dog scampers to her—like Demeter has returned

In a day, I will be back in the LNG desert metropolis / the Romanian countryside will be a memory / Balkan Orthodox Christians for Gulf Sunni Arabs / instead of the church bells waking me, it will be the morning call to prayer / this does not faze an agnostic American expat who crosses in and out of borders / I am a visitor in most places, and a stranger when I am home

I wonder, what are my sons doing at this moment? 

The oldest is still sleeping / a security shift at Target awaits him, where he will dissuade drug addicts and the homeless from stealing / the youngest is performing his duty / an airbase in Kuwait surrounds him, where he and the other young men watch for  threats all around them / both sons live in a world where they need to feel a gun at their side to be secure

Before the start of my trip, I had an impulse / why not write every day? / journal the trip so that each day would be an entry / then at the end collate the sequence, create a chapbook, and submit it to my writers group / a good challenge for me (reading overload for them) / see what truths rise to the surface and make me more attentive to the moment / thankfully, after tomorrow, my life will not be fodder for this chapbook’s pages 

(I need to quickly run off and pee)

BUTON DE DESCHIDERE-INCHIDERE | PUSH BUTTON FOR OPENING-CLOSING | BOUTON POURSSORI POUR OUVRIR-FERNER | OFFNUNGS-SCHLIESSKNOFF

For the return train, I made sure to buy a 2L bottle of water / I was parched when I first arrived in Sighișoara after 5 hours / I will not be in the same unquenched state when I return to București

Every time I check my phone, anger simmers / news of America’s madness reaches me / I should know better and stay away for the remainder of Romania

I wonder, what will be my last dinner in Romania tonight? 

On the road outside, a horse trots in front of a crude cart / it travels in the other direction from the train / will it see my past?

One thread across all countries I have visited—litter and trash / if I were an authoritarian leader, I would make prisoners comb the countryside, picking up litter / I would also make polluters drink a glass of water from random streams—and see what fate awaited them 

At the hotel breakfast this morning, I made myself a bacon and egg sandwich / I considered making one to go / now, I wish I did / I could unwrap it from napkins and bite into the savory goodness / I would then brush the crumb from my face and shirt / the woman’s dog would probably come sniff the napkin wrapping 

I wonder, 

should I drink some more water? am I thirsty, hungry, or just bored?

will I be able to nap on this train ride? will I be able to find a position that doesn’t resemble a yoga pose? 

is my former friend drinking at this moment? has the Eid break been one steady ride of inebriation and invented anger?

if you will ever find my chapbook and read this far? will this be sitting on a shelf at a bookstore and you see my name? will you look away? or will curiosity get the better of you?

when I stop writing, will it be like passing through a tunnel—the story continuing, but my eyes remaining closed? ///

punctuation inspired by Osieka Osinimu Alao’s
“race: all things impure/ all things impaired” 

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Photo by Kevin Wang on Unsplash