Art: Rocky Mountain Express
crossing the mountains
i held my mother’s hand
as we walked the length of the train
past
carriage
after
carriage
until we came to engine
a dirty red box on wheels
sucking a humming sound
out of wires
the seats were big
& comfortable
i watched the platform
swarming with people
i was disappointed
when I heard the horn
it sounded like a truck
i thought all trains
had a whistle
we pulled out of the big platform
& travelled through familiar suburbs
looking down
———at backyards
——————chooks
—————————& chokos
mum pointed down
———burwood road
——————in the direction
—————————of my grandparents
& then
———at
—————————strathfield
we went
left
&
through unfamiliar———-stations
———my eyes glued
——–to the window
——–wanting each
——-train to be a
——-steam train
then sheep in paddocks
ignoring the train
not seeing my face pressed
against the glass
when
———the
——————train
—————————went
————————————arround
———————————————a curve
i could
———see
——————the engine
—————————but couldn’t
————————————wave
————————— ———at the driver
my mother pointed
——at the river
———under
————-the bridge
—————-as the train
————-gathered speed
——-for the mountains
nepean she said
then tunnels
———sooty tunnels
you could still
———smell smoke
cause the window
———was opened
just a bit
we come out
into whiteness
an unexpected
leap from black to white
a mist
& the horn goes
again & again
like an ocean liner
at the top of the ridge
we rise above
the cloud
the train runs on the edge
the mist hangs in the valleys
wisps reach toward the track
like waves
i tell my mother
it’s like the beach
——————but colder she says
at lithgow we get out
———& walk up the platform
it is cold
———two men
have jumped on the tracks
between the engine
———&
the first carriage
chains clang to the ground
& cables
hiss
free
———the engine pulls away
——————leaving people sitting
—————————in carriages
————————————an engineless train
———then
my mother
——————squeezes
my hand as
a
big
black
&
green
steam
engine
comes round the curve
at the end of the station
tender first
——————lots of steam
little smoke
——————i’m pulled back
——————from the edge
——————of the platform
as the tender approaches the first carriage
a gentle
—————————bump
& some coal falls from the tender
———my mother says
————we
————-have
————–to get
—————back
—————- to our
——————carriage
or we would be stuck in lithgow
———i like lithgow
on the sweeping curves between lithgow & bathurst
i hang
———out the window
——————watching the engine
my face gets covered in soot
———i get something in my eye
my mother twists the end of a hanky
———to a point & extracts a black speck
my mother orders pies & a pot of tea
a man comes & puts up a little table
———in front
———of us
———clipping into slots
———in the wall
———& on the floor
then brings the pies a glass of cordial & a pot of tea
at orange tom is waiting in the old bedford
he brought a load of sheep into town in the morning
& waited for the sydney train
in the bar at the hotel canobolas
there is a single bench seat
& i have to lean against my mother
so tom can change gears
when we hit
———the gravel
——————at the end of town
my mother lifts me
onto her lap
dust has replaced smoke
a thickening layer covers us
———i sneeze
i forget how far along the cargo road
we have to go
——————finally tom pulls
up to the gate
———gets out
opens it
——————drives through
then gets out & shuts the get
—————————again
as we drive up to the house
flocks of chickens coverage on the truck
a welcome of sorts
Mark Roberts is a Sydney (Australia) based writer and critic. He is a founding editor of Rochford Street Review (http://rochfordstreetreview.com/) and produces the occasional literary magazine P76. His work has been widely published in Australia and internationally. He has a collection of work, Concrete Flamingos, due for publication in early 2016.
