barren tracks

there are train tracks there behind the house do you want to see them?
and i follow her; she is three and i am thirty but i follow
and there at the bend in the street there are rails
with ancient knuckle pins and draft keys scattered wide
there she pet the rail

hunched over in her corduroy and a sage turtleneck
bent over small legs and cartilaginous knees
i could hear her parents party and thought to get back
but she sighed and stroked it and said
sometimes it's dangerous to be here because trains take people

i looked over the rails, felt the weight of my purse with its grown up parts
my shoes heavy and a mature choice
vines had overcome the iron and steel
encircled the tracks for their own use
moss grew lush on the wood and she placed pudgy fingers inside it

i forced myself to bend to her, to crack my posture
i felt too thin, i felt unwomanly and sterile, hair too thin, bones too thin
and she broke with chubby creases of youth
raised her face to mine and asked
would you hold me if a train came

i let my bag slide from my shoulder, its heavy weight and faux leather resting on the ground
and i pulled her to me and said i think i hear one coming
she buried her face in my chest and beneath my open overcoat clutched my blouse
and i pulled her to me and smelled the scent of children
i whistled woooooosh in her ear and i was the train

i held her to me like i was her only protection in the world
let my back be vulnerable to the barren tracks and ghost train
i held her to me and thought of her lungs and bones
i held her to me and thought of her infinitesimal beginnings
i held her