One Station From Home

One Station From Home Last passengers have left the train. International service departs again at dawn. Please take all personal belongings with you. I start behind the dining car When midnight fills the glass, I straighten every empty seat And watch the stations pass. A little red wool mitten Was lying by the door, I wondered if some worried child Was crying for it somewhere. There was a photograph in carriage three, A man was torn away, Two smiling faces divided By what they could not say. I put the pieces in my coat Though they belonged to strangers, I have always tried to rescue Things that people leave in danger. Every ticket has a journey, Every silence has a name, Every person leaves behind them Something they could not explain. I clean away the lives that strangers leave behind, The broken little pieces they were too afraid to find, But tonight I found your handwriting beneath an empty seat, You were only one more station from coming home to me, Now every passing platform feels like somewhere you might be, So I ride until the morning, hoping you are waiting there for me. One more station... One more station from home... I found a hospital bracelet Beside an untouched bed, And half an unfinished letter With words that someone never said. “I know that I have hurt you, I know I stayed away...” The rest was folded inward, And the ink had washed away. You left our house one winter With your suitcase in your hand, I let my anger speak for me When I should have tried to understand. I thought you would return by Sunday, Then Sunday became years, Now I clean these silent carriages And hide behind my work and tears. Every night I cross the border, Every dawn I cross it back, But no train can take me far enough To change the words I cannot take back. I clean away the lives that strangers leave behind, The broken little pieces they were too afraid to find, But tonight I found your handwriting beneath an empty seat, You were only one more station from coming home to me, Now every passing platform feels like somewhere you might be, So I ride until the morning, hoping you are waiting there for me. The final carriage stood in darkness, Just the blue light from the hall, I reached beneath the window seat To find what someone let fall. A pale and worn-out envelope, No stamp and no address, But before I even touched it, I knew the way you wrote your S. “Mother, I was on this train. I almost came back home. I watched our old town getting close, But I could not face you alone. I stepped out at the station Just before the final line. Maybe one day I will be brave enough. Maybe next time.” You were here... You were here tonight. The wheels keep turning under me, The morning starts to rise, I search the face of every stranger As the platforms pass my eyes. The driver calls the next stop, The place you left the train, And I press my hands against the glass As we enter through the rain. I clean away the lives that strangers leave behind, But yours is the only broken life still tangled up with mine, And tonight I hold your handwriting like your hand is holding me, You were only one more station from where you used to be, Now every passing platform is a chance you waited there, So I ride into the morning calling for you everywhere. I will leave the doors wide open, I will wait beside the track, I do not need an explanation, I just need my daughter back. You were only one more station, You were closer than I knew, So until this train stops running, I will keep coming home to you. Elise? Elise... are you there?