The girl in the green batik dress
Would stand every evening at the yard
To watch the yellow smoky train rumble by
And wave at its distracted passengers.
The dress was faded and had a white lace fringing
And she’d put a red hibiscus flower on its chest
But she wasn’t as beautiful as the flowers
Or faded as the clothe
And her naked feet were like thin brown stalks
On the granite ground –
I embraced her with my eyes,
And gave her a place in my heart
To fill the one my daughter left.
I told a friend riding with me about her,
Mentioned where she always stood at,
But when we passed the place, she was not there
And I swore to my friend that this was the first time
The little girl would forget to stand by the passing train.
My friend made a note in her pad for that,
She wore a look of work, her grief therapy work.
The girl had always been there before.
What do you do with a new born child
Who does not know she has been reborn
After a life spent watching passing trains?
Still, I took her in with my arm of desire
And mothered her with a heart of wasted dreams