Train 59, City of New Orleans

Now every time I hear that John Boutte

song, I think of leaving you
standing in the station while

outside my window a
bald eagle’s nest in a dead
cypress tree didn't amaze me
a tenth as much as your tenacity
but it’s strength reminded me

of you so with cloudy eyes I had  
to leave my seat and pace the gently
rocking aisles because my entire being
wanted to be with you

again in the kitchen watching you
mix up potato salad and stir the gumbo
and, later, watching a marathon of
Chopped on TV.
Something we’ll never do together
ever
again.

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Charlotte Hamrick lives in New Orleans where she often scribbles words and phrases in notebooks that later becomes poetry. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee whose work has been published in Metazen, The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, St. Somewhere Journal and other literary magazines. She likes dark chocolate, dogs and people who listen - in that order. Her original poetry and other occasional writing can be found on her website, Zouxzoux.