Poetry by Miriam Kramer

              spablab CC



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Journals of an Engine Driver

Today it was a little girl, her fist gripped 
tight in her mother’s hand, eyes bright 

as she waved from the platform. 
“Look Mommy, it’s a lady driver.” 

I will never tire of hearing this, the pride 
that fills my body like steam. 

I tuck these moments into the luggage 
of my memory. Maybe one day they will outweigh 

the rest of the baggage I carry. I smile at her, hoping 
my lips do not shake, praying my clenched teeth 

translate, “baby, you can be anything 
when you’re grown.”

I found another runaway 
teen in the station tonight 
when I went in to use the facilities. 

She was all huddled limbs 
in the November chill, the first 
approaching frost showing in her breath. 

I bought her a hotdog and did not ask her name. 
Tonight, I felt I was as empty 
as a boxcar without freight, nothing 

to offer this girl but more distance. 
I do not have closure for her, I cannot help her arrive
anywhere other than her dark circles that mirror my own.

I don’t know why he chose me 
this evening, of all the trains 

travelling this country. 
The passengers will not know why 

we stopped, why their dinners are getting cold. 
They will read about it later in the news 

or scrolling through Facebook. They will say, 
“how awful,” and “what a tragedy,” 

as they eat their microwaved meals. 
They will forget there was a woman 

driving the train, unable to stop, 
watching it all unfold, watching him cross 

his arms and close his eyes. 
Tonight, I kept my eyes open. 

The moments before collision, 
these are the most intimate 

moments of my life. Just him and me, 
together before impact. 

I cannot steel myself to not feel 
connected, I will be the last person 

who could have identified him without 
dental records. I will recognize his face 

in the wreckage of my dreams.
I will call the dispatcher; she will ask me if I can check 

on the situation. I will tell her, 
no, not this time. ​

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Miriam Kramer resides in New Jersey and works at an educational nonprofit. Her work has appeared in Rising Phoenix Review, Indigent Press, and Rat's Ass Review. Her debut chapbook, In Time This Too Shall Be Proven Foolish, was published by dancing girl press. Miriam has read poems out loud to friends and strangers in many parking lots and established venues all over the United States.

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