Cast Away

Rose petals and dewdrops crush
under the weight of my sandals
as I pass through the garden
on the way
to my father's apartment.
The screen door sticks.
I pass through a shaft of light
filled with tiny specks of dust
settling on his boxes of model trains.
I pack the last one, a Reading Railroad freight,
in the box and tape it for shipping.
Across the room, clock hands sit silent
next to an eight by eleven photograph
perched on the dresser.
 
His smile beams as he places a trout
into the fishing basket slung
around his waist. Moments
earlier, while wading knee deep in the stream,
he cast his rod, launching the fly
into an arching rainbow across the sky
that dipped down into the stream
baitng a hungry trout.
Magenta, ochre, and crimson leaves
line the riverbank. Placing the trout
into his basket, he cast
a glance and smile to the camera.
Off in the distance,
a train whistles its way through a
peach orchard-mandarin spheres
dripping from branches-
ready to harvest.
 
The train lurches
toward a mountain, reachs
the summit after sunset,
and casts a shadow across my face
as it passes in the night.
 

Laurie MacMillan