The Sand Hill Review http://www.sandhillreview.org 2004

Scrapheap Next

In the Sierra Nevadas, 1893

Entering the curve, he steps out on

the observation deck. He misses Jane.

Without her, Jesus, nothing seems the same.

These damn cigars, for instance. He’s been fond

of them since Albany, but now the bond’s

been broken. Christ, like so much else. The train

turns back, curve big enough to bear his name.

Old Jupiter—no, Jupiter’s long gone,

since—eighty-five, just after Little Leland

died. Ah, Little Leland. Boy once—small

enough to—bear his name . . . That—God-appalling

—episode in Italy. Here he’s

the one who’s broken, scrapheap next, train stalled.

He can’t escape the wreck. By now, it’s all he sees.

Kate Adams