The Blues

Sometimes a harmonica sounds like a train,
a far-off train
as it passes
some lonesome landscape—
the sound of something leaving, an echo
through the window at night.

Which sounds like a heart breaking,
or the quiet wail
that escapes
when a heart breaks—
like steam through a valve
or a cry between lips
(“stay, stay”)—

when something leaves
and all you’ve got
to hold onto
is the sound of its going

and even that isn’t yours.
Even that leaves too.

4 Responses to “The Blues”

  1. 1 1markt January 9, 2011 at 6:54 pm

    I felt this piece, balidated by its tangibility, I’d like to invite you by when you have a chance. This is a good work and shows considerable talent. I shall read more.

  2. 2 pam January 9, 2011 at 9:26 pm

    oh just beautiful

  3. 3 Tracey T January 14, 2011 at 9:44 am

    This poem is great. I look forward to reading more of your work on the glimpse project!

  1. 1 Tweets that mention The Blues « Lonely Girl Travels -- Trackback on January 9, 2011 at 5:29 pm
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Lauren Quinn is a writer and traveler currently living in Hanoi. Lonely Girl Travels was a blog of her sola travels and expat living from 2009 to 2012. She resides elsewhere on the internet now.

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