orgami's Diaryland Diary

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buzzing memory

there is the railroad
and the small brown creek
lined with the grasses
above and beneatht he water
that flowed

tough sharp creasote
wafting up in the summer heat
the rails pinging as they
expanded
we would pick up small pellets
or ore from the ore cars destined
for Hamilton and other smelters
they would shake out of the bottom
doors as the heavy cars thumped
over the tracks past our small
village

we would load up bread bags doubled
up with these heavy objects for our
sling shots they would have a
blue patina on them and looked
like fat pregnant blueberries

the smell of the heat and rust
and oil deisel fuel
the flight of heavy insects
up from the swamp that the tracks
ran through the twisted siding
rails worn and tired
the switch stand looking like a
metal gaurdian from a science
fiction cover
dragonflies
cicadeas in the tamaracks
horseflies

it was all worth it though

thought about that this morning
as I threw away a bread bag
funny how memories come
from the dark
like thirsty cars to an all night
fuel station
like moths to a brilliant lamp

5:40 p.m. - 2005-06-06

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