The train was a black centipede
moving through the blue-dust
a television cast across my mother’s pleated red skirt
spread like a fan over her knees.
She sat on the floor, her legs
kicked out to one side,
her white-socked foot
until the newsman’s voice,
And now the car bearing the body,
draped in the flag
her heart breaking all the way
across the back of America.
- from my second book, The Circle Line, forthcoming from The Backwaters Press in 2009