You stand beyond the river, waving.
I think I hear you shout,
Get off at the next stop!
The wind lifts your burnished hair.
Your golden eyes reflect the sun.
Yes, I think. It is really him.
Even that silly jacket.
I lift my hand to the window, press
it flat, not waving.
I notice I am wearing your gloves.
I turn away, try to read the map:
the red line for the train,
the blue line for the river I must cross.
Where was I going before you appeared?
And how can you be so close across a river?
I stand at the exit stair. Winds
sweep the corridors of the train.
The next stop. The doors shudder open.
I leap for endless water
or your arms.
Laura Bonazzoli lives in Rockport, Maine. Her poetry has appeared in dozens of literary magazines, including Connecticut River Review, SLANT, and Viking Review, and has been anthologized in Balancing Act 2: An Anthology of Poetry by Fifty Maine Women, and A Dangerous New World: Maine Voices on the Climate Crisis. She has also published short stories and creative nonfiction.