Academic journal article Women's Studies Quarterly

Sunset Limited

Academic journal article Women's Studies Quarterly

Sunset Limited

Article excerpt


After the wreck, they drove me down

where the charred cars lay stacked

hy the highway's wayside. Look, girl.

Seagulls hohhed and plunged at loosed

saltines. Frog calls blistered in the background.

There must have been stretchers brought,

helicopters circling in huntress swarms,

radioed calls to tote the dead away.

The train that pummels off into bayou,

that's all Momma drawn to the hogs,

no mind to her ribs, steel and bowed,

pregnant with passengers. She thinks

she's a gilled fortress. Her iron

shudders and shouts through the pines.

A woman is neither train nor wreck,

hut he was the barge in fog that sent

her track akimbo? No. Not barge, not

man. A girl is neither track nor last halt.


I got to drive that train once.

Sat on the conductor's lap.

I guess it was less driving,

more pulling a string to let

the whistle croon long-loud. …

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