Departure

by Libby Rasmussen

A foreigner is lost between
going in the side car and standing on the platform.

A little girl walks next to a tall man toward the train.
Her arms are flapping at her sides and
her hood is pulled up tightly around her.
The tall man takes long paces, his hands in his pockets.

The morning is passing and a white cloud hovers low around us like fog.
Railroads in different parts of the world still use different gauges.
The gauge is the distance between
the inner edges of the rails.
The rails form parallel lines of track, made from metal.

Very few get off at this stop.
It’s as if everyone is leaving here.

Frequent travelers become accustomed to being swallowed by vast expanses of land.
We conducted our goodbye the way Napoleon performed his with France
when exiled for the last time to Saint Helena.

Developing a plan to swim across the sea.
Ambition larger than the risk one is willing to take.

The greatest damage suffered by rail beds is caused by water.
It fills the shoulders.

You will pass through tunnels and think of me
and the only tunnel that I will pass through
is under a thousand pounds of salt water.

The flags will rise and disappear completely into the train
headed to Belgrade with you.

Libby Rasmussen graduated from Prescott College May of 2008 with a degree in Cultural and Regional Studies and a minor in Creative Writing. She loves to travel and craft short stories from her experiences abroad. She is currently attending the MFA program at Hamline University in St. Paul, Minnesota.

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