I grew up in the ‘50’s and lived by the train tracks where you would hear shunting of freight trains and whistles throughout the day. When I was first married, in the early 70’s my husband and I lived by the train station, again we too felt the vibration of the long cargo train especially late at night. Trains were a way of life in our small town and still, these freight trains impact and at times oppress the lives of the residents.
This reminds me of a typical day in the late 1950’s where shows like Father’s Knows Best was a popular television show…
cooking supper
window shakes
6 o’clock train
cooking supper
children whine they’re hungry
train whistles
window shakes
pot of stew boils over
shrill screeches
6 o’clock train
children squeal with joy
Daddy’s home!
(c) Tournesol’18
Last night she went on a journey into the past. She had discovered her late mother’s old love letter from 1969. She felt she was there next her mom, waiting for her to stop writing so she could go to bed. She was in her last year of high school. She slept with her mother in Grandmaman’s bedroom. Since her older sister was now living and working in Montreal, she no longer had to share the furnace…her old bedroom.
She remembers how her mother fell in love so quickly with her first lover after her parents’ separation…and she fell hard too! She recalls how part of her was worried and did not want her mother hurt; she was so fragile. Another part was jealous…well just a little since it had been her mother, her sister and her sister braving the world for so long. She remembers falling under his spell six months later because he was so good to her mother and treated her like a princess. Soon he became a proud father to her as well.
She read another set of letters mailed to her mother…all from her new lover. Such declarations of pure love. It warmed her heart. The last letter was dated April 30, 1969. Was this a coincidence to be reading these later exactly 49 years later to the day?
She wished she had kept her old letters from her first crush. She was only 13 and he was 17. It was so exciting waiting day after day for the mail to come. She also wrote letters to her best friend who spent the summer at her cottage by the lake. Time moved slower then. You had time to write five, six or ten pages to a friend. Not many could phone even of it was just 20 kilometres away. In those days long distance bills were very expensive and her mother and grandmother could not afford such luxuries! But still, it was a more romantic time…spending hours by the turntable listening to the Beatles and the Rolling Stones.
Sitting on the porch
Waiting patiently
Mister Postman
Sitting on the porch
Watching butterflies
Kissing daffodils
Waiting patiently
Cat hides behind the bush
Eyeing his prey
Mister Postman
Carrying a bag of joy
P.S. I Love You
city streets filled with sweat
winter’s thaw mixed with smog
midnight walkers’ spirits run
stench of liquids giving buzz
panhandlers shouting for extra dough
homeless silent at their corners
minding their own business
a cardboard bed and brown paper cup
their presence never taunt or shout
commuters rushing by to work
no longer notice these city folks
immune to smells and poverty
they hail a cab or take the train
subway stations soon fill fast
people speed to catch their train
sometimes stalled for quite some time
a suffering soul jumped on the tracks
the driver sits, frozen in shock
nightmares of drivers to maim or kill
their job is hell…life’s lost its thrill
nine to fivers are not the same
some rushing home to join their claim
others dawdle and take their time
sometimes spend their very last dime
stretching their dreaded return home
deafening echoes they must postpone
screams of silence await those alone
Alone…
are we really?
the retired man goes out early
no newspaper at his doorstep
he walks up to the newsstand
his next stop at Claudette’s diner
his regular special like every day
his coffee topped off without a say
other patrons join him sometimes
they talk about the good old times
and whine about the government
come afternoon he may go home
to feed his cat and quench the plants
sitting in his comfy chair
the purring is a lullaby
a short nap is well deserved
he may go out or read his book
but when he looks out the window
sun smiles with her alluring look
and so he goes out once again
his cane in hand – not for his legs
but for his safety – one never knows
the dangers on these city streets
it’s busy now, he sees all kinds
he walks along the inner side
even though the sidewalk’s wide
different crowd of night people
barely awake, their pompous stride
hustling for their daily preys
pestering ‘specially the old and meek
most likely need their daily fix
its still too early for nighttime tricks
staggering along the city pavement
a panhandler leans into a man
smooth talking with a crooked smile
menacing and insistent
he blocks pedestrians all the while
the man stops suddenly and lifts his cane
he pleads to be left alone
the hustler laughs and taunts again
until a new prey walks along
he finally leaves this frightened man
an older woman has stopped to watch
the taunting scene, her phone in hand,
her finger on the number 9
and then a sigh of pure relief
when all seems safe, she’s on her way
and as she enters an eatery
she bumps into the same old man
gnarled fingers curled on his cane
she tells him she is so relieved
he’s safe- no longer aggrieved
the man looks down
he was so tall!
his smile shows how he too is pleased
although alone, there’s always
someone around, you see!
there’s people who actually care
even if you live alone
Tournesol dans un Jardin 