You held the promise of adventure
In your steam-powered engine,
The lines that traversed the landscape
The coal that pushed plumes to the sky.
You carried dreams
In your cars that extended for miles,
The sleeper cabins and luncheonettes
The open rows where dreamers sat.
You marked the distance
On your wheels questing for connection,
The destinations like compass arrows
The nations shrinking in your growth.
You stand as pillars of time passed
In museums dedicated to your greatness,
The speed of progress rattling by unstopping
The marks of disuse tattooing your frame.
I have always been fascinated by trains. Where I grew up at my grandmother’s house in New Jersey, we lived down the street from a fairly busy train station. It was nothing to hear trains night and day pass through our town. I also loved to walk the abandoned rails and cross the unused trellises, even with my fear of heights growing as I aged. The minute we came across this train museum in the middle of nowhere in a town full of beautifully painted murals, I knew we had to make a stop. Walking amongst the locomotives, steam engines, and boxcars reminded me of home.