Dusk, the Girl, the Antiquated Railway

This railroad has not been used for years. The solid rails rusted, just like your lifetime is eroded by wind and storms. The rails lie peacefully on the road bed, winding to a remote place.

There is an abandoned factory on the hill. The collapsed wall and shaft are immersed in the light of sunset. The wild weeds silence the noise of the past.

A girl is walking alone, far away along the rails.  You can see her back, her short, dark brown skirt. Wind blows her long, black hair to her right shoulder. Her long, slim legs and neck remind you of your youth, the first sweetheart you had.

Twilight is so quiet flowing from the trees; the lake shines; the duck calls in a husky voice.

The girl keeps walking until she disappears from your sight.

This moment becomes forever, as if it contains all days and nights of your life.

* * *

“Dusk, the Girl, the Antiquated Railway” is the third of three new poems by Yi Ping written on the occasion of Ithaca City of Asylum’s fifteenth anniversary.

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