Paris to Maryville
The trains of Paris pull out, pull in
all the time, and because I’m on a platform with a bag
I exist anywhere. People look at me and wonder
what kind of destination is written on my face.
Many of them run by in a flurry
even before the siren rings. I would chase them
if I wanted to, but I’m an old cat
and in no hurry at all. I’ll stand here
like a person waiting for some passenger,
studying the face of every passer-by.
If you look at me once I’ll always remember
having seen your eyes before;
don’t good things come to those who wait?
If the station-master hadn’t made eyes at me
I could have sworn he had
his own lady back at home. Merci, monsieur,
pour votre attention. But I’m here waiting
for a train to carry me across the Atlantic
through Canada, and maybe Chicago, to go
and see my woman down in Tennessee.
Rethabile Masilo is a Mosotho poet who blogs at Poéfrika and is an editor for Canopic Jar. He lives in Paris, France, with his wife and two children, where he writes and reads poetry. Published in various magazines and online, he is the author of two poetry collections, Things that Are Silent (Pindrop Press, 2012) and Waslap (The Onslaught Press, 2015)