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Tell me about the railroad buried like a secret racing through the flesh of this town black, almost blue, with daily beating of feet headed somewhere untraceable by tires I am once again pirate, explorer, Chosen One armed only with laundry bag of candy and socks kids remember to bring when running away from home as flirtatious beery breath of the creek chases my loose laces Far-off into the melting sun unnamed bird prays in tongues the railroad corpse sleeps No wonder the trees whisper ghost stories *** eKY Flood Relief Annotation 8/6/22 I walked this windy path to and from the radio station every day. I remember dewy mornings, listening to the sounds of wood creatures chittering or rustling out at me. It was never a lonely walk. Occasionally, one of the community DJs would invite me to sit in live at their late night show. I'd walk this path again, holding the knowledge of lights awake at the station in my mind. I was deathly afraid of the dark and the dogs living in the yard that backed up to the path never failed to make me jump with the sudden nearness of their bark. Cemeteries used to conjure up visions of emaciated hands reaching out of the ground for my ankles. But learning that the path I walked every day was the tarred-over remains of an old railroad track reminded me of that Jackie Chan movie, the one where the woman he loves who is fated to die says that stations make her sad. They remind her of departures. This path reminded me of journeys, old, new, and yet to come. Support the community radio station in rebuilding after the past week of floods: https://tinyurl.com/wmmt887  Return to the Kentucky Collection.
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