Interlude by Esther Ra

When I boarded the train, my hands were empty,

and I knew nothing of where I should go.

Only that I needed to get somewhere.

Towns rushed to our side and hurried away.

Seasons flashed crimson and fell.

And soon, I forgot to look out the windows.

A blur of green. A smear of sunlight.

What more could my small world contain?

There was nothing that made this stop different,

only: I was given a door to a pocket of warmth,

and somehow, I said yes, and walked through.

Have you ever had moments, perhaps a whole day,

when life washed her face and grew kind?

When the world’s indifference felt soft

as a cloak, and you roamed about, weightless

and free? Those were days I did not need to

suffer to live, or justify why I should be.

Instead, I was wealthy with time, and in awe.

I was able to learn how to breathe.

It’s one of those days: let’s run away

and explore this beautiful city together.

Let’s fill our hands with hour after hour,

gift-wrap each memory in its glow.

We’ve arrived empty-handed,

but look at us now—shaken,

and in love with our lives.

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Esther Ra is the founding editor of The Underwater Railroad, a literary reunification project. Her work has also been published in Boulevard, Rattle, The Rumpus, and Border Crossing, among others. She has been the recipient of numerous awards, including the Pushcart Prize and the 49th Parallel Award for Poetry. In writing, as in life, she is deeply interested in the quiet beauty of the ordinary. (www.estherhaelanra.com)