two-hundred-twenty mph by Sophie Kessler (15, New Jersey)

imaginary trains,
the clack of the tracks like fingers picking at guitar strings.
“i’ve been everywhere,”
is a promise and a vow,
a tale
for every star and trail.

---

​pressing hands damp from summer drinks against dusty windows
--lemonade, virgin daiquiris, cold brew--
when we take the blue line down,
stamps dotting postcards
and pins pierced in the map that we traced on our skin.
c o n s t e l l a t i o n s
splayed out
like
multicolored
bullets
all tied up with a safety pin.

the “travel time, four hours,”
(who cares? as long as we get there) is drowned out
by the drumming of boots
and the people whacking their flurry-covered hats
against the backs of seats.
trying not to spill their hot cocoa and tea and
it becomes
a dream,
the dream.
spurred by the dreamers who want to find their roots,
watch sunsets, who want to
b r e a t h e
free air,
see cities,
recognize skylines,
hear new languages and taste the smokey pine of the mountains.
the dream,
created by people
who would rearrange the country in a heartbeat
to connect it
with
train tracks.