7:24am.
You stand on the platform,
As you always do.
Cold brew in one hand,
Briefcase in the other,
Three back and two left
Of the orange, cracked brick.
Waiting.
7:25am.
The train screeches to a halt,
Steam saturates the station
Into warm white fog.
Shoes clack along the brick.
Sounds are hollow
Among these cold, empty walls
7:27am.
The loudspeaker crackles.
The doors slide shut.
The station sweeps away.
You will ride to the same stop, your stop: the one with the statue of the two dancing girls, and the sign that is cracked through the second “t” in Everett Place, and the man in the ticket stand who always has his hat pulled too low, and the window in front of him always reflects sun into your eyes when you get off. And you always get off. But, it occurs to you, that you don’t have to get off.
You could say fuck it, stay on until the end of the line; and get on another one, and keep going; and another one, and another; eventually, you would be so far away from everything that you could be anyone, you think; you could end up in the countryside: buy a ranch and wander your property until you grow old and tired; or you could find yourself on the coast; be a crewman on a ship, that is, until you can buy one for yourself; sail away, and spend the rest of your life wandering; your mind would be so full of exotic cultural traditions and your belly so full of their food; yes, that is what you will do; you are getting excited now; you begin to think that this is what you were always meant to do; you would find someone who would want to come with you; or you could go with them: it doesn't really matter; and then you would have children, and they would learn the love to wander as you have wandered; because at that point, you would have already seen it all; climbed atop Kilimanjaro and trudged into the Amazon; studied in the Bibliothèque Nationale and watched films in Cine Thisio; bungee jumped bridges in New Zealand and soared over volcanoes in Hawai’i; perused through the markets of Pakistan and feasted on the views of Patagonia; protested with Iranian citizens and sat in on a Swiss democratic convention; skied the French Alps and surfed the coast of Bali; worshiped with the monks of Thailand and wept with the widows of Afghanistan; you would have done all that; and your children would look up to you as a hero; and you would be their hero, and retrace all your steps with them; and then they would continue to adventure, as you had adventured; and then–
And then what?
You ask yourself,
As you step onto the platform
And then the sun blinds you through the window,
And you see the man with the hat,
And the cracked sign,
And the dancing girls.
You look at the clock above the ticket man.
7:41am.
My gaze shifts
Down the page,
Word after word after word.
They draw me on,
Pulling me through them,
Lines of lines, pages of pages.
And
yet,
there
are
too
many.
They
pull
from
everywhere,
and
my
eyes
can
not
be
everywhere,
And so I try to block them out.
They
They
But the words just fuzz around the edges.
Are
Are
They bob and move,
Just
Just
Twist and flow with my eyes,
Words
Distractions
Rolling down the page,
A car
rolls
through
a
puddle
outside;
I am
now
out there
with
it,
on the street,
hearing everything
the
shoes
as
they
clomp
along
the
sidewalk,
the birds
as
they
chirp overhead,
the
saxophone
player, busking
in
the
parking lot.
Then I bounce my knee,
and I am back
inside my room, where my body
never really left.
I sigh,
pop my knuckles,
tap my fingers
against the table,
staring
down at the sea of words:
just as distracted as before.
Separate we all made our way here, by boat or by train, by car or by plane, to Atlin.
As we worked our way up Blackerby, scrambling over rocks and trees,
I found myself thinking,
what kind of people are these?
Are they good-natured and graceful?
Are they hardy and tough?
Are they goofy and playful?
Are they warm and not gruff?
At camp 17 we learned
What weather can do
To a raincoat when turned
Into a personal wetsuit
We became ski masters
On the ptamagain and lemon
Climbing beams of the rafters
Prussics between life and heaven
From ping pong ball we hauled
Into the depths of the icefield
Slowly up Norris Icefall
Into bed with blistered heels
Eventually we made it and wham
Camp 10 lo and behold
Had plenty of space for spam
And Swiss miss by the boatload
Oh my the view we found
To the flagpole rocks you cling
Gazing at peaks all around
As Ali strums her six string
The emperor protected
By the duke and towers
While glacier king stands suspended
Northwest a few hours
It was here we went our separate ways
For a day or two or three
Some for a digging escapade
Others to space camp, with brie!
Just like that we charged onward
Skiing northward side by side
When the weather suddenly shifted
And faculty needed to fly
So off they zipped, like that!
On their snowmobile tow
Will carving turns with no slack
Tugging Daniel to and fro
18 was their destination
Chasing, we skied with intent
Anne flying ahead impatient
Much to Christina’s dissent
Plodding up the last hill
around the bend on silky snow
There was camp standing still
Dwarfed by Gilkey down below
With final laughs and embraces
We sent off our faculty crew
In their stead came new faces
It was the end of block 2
Block 3 was a blur
Full of mountaineering and lectures
On glacial hydrology and firn
Navigating huge crevasse fractures
Though RADAR was mistaken
And Ogilvie sang “can’t touch this!”
GPS measurements were taken
Of the Llewelyn and Mathis
Soon northward called “it’s time!”
We began to trickle out
Over Mathis’ arched spine
And Llewellyn’s mighty spout
A day’s journey took us to 26
Where the marmots sing shrilly
The bathroom needed a fix
And Leo took it quite silly
And onward they said once more
Just a day here will do
So we cried “burn camp ride north!”
And bid this fine site adieu
We embarked quite early
Navigating ice cracks for hours
Until ending our icefield journey
Feet upon glacial flour
Over hills and through trees we plodded
Feet begging for mercy
Until finally Atlin lake was spotted
We couldn’t help but to hurry
Clothes off in a flash
We bolted to the beach
And in with a splash
Oh sweet relief
Our trip was now over
The feet finally could rest
Minds reflect on the summer
It was truly the best
Together we all made our way here, by bus and by boat, by slog and by ski, to Atlin.