Return to Top of Page
Menu
  • Close
  • About Us
  • Contributors
  • Donate
  • Opportunities
  • Staff
  • Submissions
  • 20 Years
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Instagram
  • Search Website
Literary Mama
  • Current Issue
  • Past Issues
  • Departments
  • Blog
  • Newsletter

Poetry | December 2004

Necessary Turns

By Liz Abrams-Morley

So I told him something
about dogs and something
about sunflowers
and one more thing about
train tickets
and taking water.
It was a hot day and he
was leaving to his own life.

I drove.

We missed every necessary
turn — my fault.
I was drifting
to another gone moment,
and another. Where was I?
The heat rose,
undulating — genies
off red brick buildings we
passed only accidentally;
(he knew a back way.)

I missed more turns.
Became nervous. Still,

he made his train.
From the platform I saw it all:
how from now on he would travel great distances
and I would travel other distances.
How before the rattle of wheel
against track deafened us, he
would always tell me chill out, Mom
but would know to bend and kiss
the top of my head and so,

before heading home,
I would stop,
buy a magazine,
watch commuters careen through the station’s
cool, cavernous hallways,
would think something about how
holding no ticket meant I
could be going anywhere now.

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Share This Page

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Email
  • Copy Link

Liz Abrams-Morley

Learn More

Subscribe to Our Newsletter

Don't miss out on Literary Mama news and updates

[mc4wp_form id="24407"]
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Instagram
  • Instagram
  • RSS

© 2023 Literary Mama | Search Site | About Us | Staff | Submissions | Privacy Policy