Literary Orphans

Nostalgic Trains by Claire Trimble


My head rests against the pillow,

my freshly cleaned skin soft on the fabric,

a Train sounds in the distance. The hum

of its whistle brings about a dose of yearning

for the nights I spent, many years before-


Summer nights; warm air billowing the

white curtains on my window

up like a friendly ghost. The sweet smell

of the rain-soaked oak trees wafting through;

the late-night cicadas singing their silvery songs.


……….Those nostalgic Trains take me places

……….that cease to exist outside my mind,


Their quiet call alerting all in it’s path;

my adolescent life irrevocably

intertwines with the railroad path coursing

along the elegant, dirty river-


……….It’s bank smelling of lingering youth,

……….and stale cigarettes;


It’s essence enveloping my senses, stealing

my memories and pocketing them in the salty

sweet aroma of mud-infused water,

pungent to your nose, but silky on your fingertips;


The oak trees and river water dance in the cold yellow

light of the moon, shimmering and basking in it’s glow;


My hands, small with childhood, rest in the warmth

of my father’s, guitar strings melodious against the crickets

hidden in the dew-cloaked grass; silhouettes, drunk with

dusk, laugh and sway with summer-time liquor.


and now,

I keep my window open, even in the icy depth of winter,

in hopes of a Train sounding in the distance,

it’s song drenched in used-to-be’s.

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Writer, reader, and library enthusiast, Claire Trimble is a college senior finishing up her bachelor’s degree in English Literature. Her work has been published twice in Stella Veritatis. She currently resides in Chicago, Illinois. You can follow her Twitter here:

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