Terry Champlin

Train Song

“Speaking French” by Carolyn Dewald

On a train once
when I was eighteen
and it was an even race between
my hair and my hemline
I met an older woman
with a lived-in face and
a cigarillo.

We watched the sun set
over Arles.
Staring at my knees
she said:
no cherry tree
in insolent bloom
can understand
the hot dry summer to come
or the fruit that the birds will peck once
and then leave hanging.

and I may have misunderstood
or made some of it up
out of desire
for a story
to match the voice and the face

Answering Emma

by Carolyn Dewald

Driving back last week
leaving you
four states and two large deserts away
I did not start to cry
until I came to the sign
dividing east from west.

Water now for you runs east;
you are very far away,
doing things that I have never done
with people I will never meet.

But something like the pull of the moon
	on the spring tide binds us.
My arms know how your shoulders feel,
	how the long bones move in their sockets,
how you throw your head
	back when you laugh,
the drawl with which you speak French,
how your fingers fold around mine.

If the ground beneath could speak
to the young birch
lovely in its white bark
and new spring leaves,
what on earth would it say?

City Song

“City” by Tony Wright

And now, the bright night is falling
     Shopkeepers have closed iron gates
     the streets are filled with people
     passing under lamplight
     the glow shines down on everyone...

     Here
          There
     Uptown
          Downtown
     In the discos
     In the subways
          and the parking lots
     Oh that magic feeling, nowhere to go
     Nowhere to go.

Down the street, people are talking
     A telephone call
          a restaurant proposal
     In the ticket lines
     On the stairs, in the windows
     And everywhere, memory....

The park on Sunday
     Old men feeding the pigeons
          the carousel
     Snow in March
          a visit to Chinatown
     An exhibition
          a rock concert
     Grabbing a taxi
          running from the rain
     And the lovers
          and falling in love
     Looking out from the bridge
     Watching from the window
     Everyone passing
     The vendors, the ushers,
          the waiters, the doormen
     All the people
     Coming, going
     Up, down
          Arriving
          Departing
     The City’s roaring noise
     The city sleeping
     Safe, alone, no dark night falling.