On Tracks
I’ve never travelled from Trenton to Boston on the train. It’s early. The quiet car is still quiet.
I boarded, slipping through car after car of sleeping passengers, likely in their fourth or fifth hours of travel.
Dawn now floods the horizon as we glide past the new york skyline, a lawn of navy silhouettes superimposed on orange.
I feel the weight of waking hours pressing on my eyes. Do I sleep?
I have the morning to myself now, away from the routine of apartment and classroom.
I don’t want to waste the time in sleep, but I sense it creeping over me.
