Train

My student new to English, new to this country, traces maps

of our city’s subway routes on the whiteboard in my classroom,

in his notebooks, on loose-leaf pages, any surface he can find.

He takes whiteboard markers, matches colors, red for Red Line,

green for Green, sketches from memory, catches descent and rise,

subtle undulation, knows every single stop along the way.

In a soft voice, chanting station by station, makes his patient way

to each line’s end.  

He curves a border round a route that splits three ways,

transforms it into a giant squid, a set of stairs, a mountainside,

a balloon going up, up, up.  He sings a wordless melody

as he works.  He knows exactly where each train will go.

Such things serve to steady.

He recites the names of stations I have lived with all my life, places

that took me to family and friends, times when I thought the future

would be scary, would be dark, and now I’m in it, it is.

I can’t see too far down the track.  He knows exactly

where each train will go, its destination named and clearly

marked in bright ink, pronounced with clarity and conviction.

Such things serve to steady.  ‘Thank you for riding,’ he murmurs to himself.

‘Don’t forget your belongings when you leave the train.’