Each week, I travel to and from work by train. My children cling to my legs and wave their arms and shout farewells, as I board my bike and pedal towards the train station, feeling a tight-throated yearning for their sweet presence, and a gravitational pull towards freedom, possibility, self. The train has become a powerful metaphor for my life. As soon as I board, I am acutely aware that I have made a decision and put myself in motion, and then, of a sudden, am not in control, am barreling toward a destination, watching the world beyond the window, wondering. It has become a space of poetry, a liminal space of possibility, and, in its own way, a space of prayer. Below are two poems I wrote during the month of Ellul and the period of the High Holy Days.

Escape

Though the train rocks
my unsteady

hand in its
stormy grasp

I will not
be flung

overboard. Deep
within its

wavy chambers I
will sleep

unseen unquestioned
scribbling my prayers

patiently awaiting
the gaping tunnel the

inevitable

Though the King

Though
The King is in the field

And I
Who have been so long wandering lost

Amongst its
Tall grasses sweet wet soft scents

Waiting
To be found as I slip amidst the trees

As day
After day I think I feel against my

Legs His
Royal robes His warm palm brushing mine

My breath
Quickens and though He is so close

I find myself suddenly in on this train.
My wild

Gaze following His damp footprints
My dry throat silenced mid-prayer,

Longing.