Written by Michael Dufresne
I take my seat on the maglev train,
stare out the window, wait for launch.
“Look at all the graffiti. How
do they do it—the artists, I mean?
At night, I suppose, when
no one’s around.” No response.
There never is. And so I wait
in the quiet, not for the train to launch
(it already has), but for something else
to say (I am here to be heard).
In the quiet, I yield myself
to images well suited for distraction.
“Look at all the horses. What
would it be like to witness a stampede?
If we closed our eyes, would we still
feel the movement in our bones?
I’m feeling it now, when
it’s not even here. Are we even here?”
You don’t respond. You never do.
And so I wait. And so I give
you time to feel it too. Maybe you do.
.
Michael Dufresne is a PhD candidate in philosophy at the University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa and an occasional poet. His poems have appeared in Unleash Lit, The Letter Review, Rabbit and TPT Magazine. He currently lives in Florida with his spouse.