Dust From the Tracks

I chose you
because of your long arms,
the first time they wrapped
around the full width of me
I knew I desperately
wanted you more
than the others did,

you
because of all your books:
fantasy,
politics,
business,
biographies,
stacking taller and taller
on your bedside table,

you
because you were quiet
and I grew up in a loud home,
you showed restraint,
you studied stoicism,
and I always felt
too full of fire,
too forthcoming,
I knew you would quiet me,

but I left because
I didn’t like being
the only one
in the room
when I smelled the dust
from the tracks
through the open window,

when I felt the train shaking
the walls before I heard it
beating along,
wondering how long it was,
where it was going,
where it was coming from,
the things it was carrying,

trying to catch a glimpse of
some history or graffiti,

I left because
we were always
smelling the dust,
listening to the train,
feeling it vibrate through us
from separate floors.