Sleepers

Meet me at midnight at the train tracks. Down where the 11:15 to Greensboro derailed in ‘09. Where it screamed into the station, breaking for a mule that’d wandered onto the tracks. Where the engine jumped track, flopped into some kid’s lemonade stand. Where pitchers and juice went flying, peppering the crowd on the platform with ice and lemons. 

The mule lived for many years. And was, by all accounts, a good mule.

Aside from foundation piers and rusted nails, the station’s not there anymore. But the train still whizzes by occasionally. 

Meet me on the tracks where someone still piles up flowers and toys.

Where sometimes at night you can still see a little girl in a white dress, a slice of lemon in her hair. 

Where we’ll know there is more to this universe than we see. Something more to this life.  Something more than this god-damned town.