As she stood, she blinked back
the sun saturated dust motes.
Like a crash landed butterfly, crumpled
shoulders slumped to the base
of this dirty sunbeam slant.
It was a strange slightly alien place,
and yet familiar, like a family photograph.
Once she used to live inside the lines,
now it felt like she had been left behind.

It was eerie in the empty station,
all those daily faces had vanished,
evaporated as the water ran dry.
A dusty town, an empty mind
no timetables adorned the walls
no sight or sound of the next train calling.
The bluebird’s song is long since gone,
a ghostly chink of china rides the breeze.
Her thoughts echoed off the empty
platform, as all the nameless, faceless,
shameless pushed on by.

© Copyright 2016 Abigail Baker



We do not fall or tumble
slip or stumble

instead we jump and dive
plunge and bomb

or hesitate
dipping the tip of a toe

and wait
watching the ripples flow.

Be the wave
allow yourself to be carried

follow the form
relax into the queue

fall and rise
once more in timely fashion

believe those before,
feel the impending mass

invisible in its darkness
embrace the moment of impact.

© Copyright 2013 Abigail Baker