Underground

This week’s poem, as always, with a touch of Aphantasia.

The images best burnt in,
are photographs I’ve held tight.
These I can reassemble:
the ones I have looked at
and looked at again,
the ones I remember yet cannot see,
the moments when time was caught,
halted on its iron rails, 
steaming to get on with it.

The missing and the damned move quickly,
like trains in the underground,
imploding through forgotten stations
on long tracks leading elsewhere.

I stand flat on the platform,
and watch the rowdy blur of faces
through windows streaked with soot and rain.
A furious cyclone of driven air
bursts around me and then
fades into silence.

I am left looking everywhere,
for my hat.

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Thank you for reading. Here’s another poem.

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My initial post has more about Aphantasia. Have a look, and the poems might make a different kind of sense.

https://alexkbernstein.substack.com/p/glimpses-at-the-dark?r=2vc4a8

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Please share this with any aphants you might have in your life. I am highly curious to know if any of this resonates with others whose mind’s eyes are dark.

—Alex

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Glimpses at the Dark can be delivered every week.