Poetry Month

BOUNDARY CONDITION
by CAOILINN HUGHES

From the platform, iron iterates way into time.
The tracks are staples intervaled along my father’s spine.

Before me might be somebody’s father, waited for — white
choker of a condor, dry lips of lifelong acolyte.

I barely brush his arm, so as not to make him start.
Who knows how he might play out: cave in, tear apart?

He deeds toward me, wet wood breakable. All in all
of direst bark. This is how it starts, at last, I recall.

“I thought you were someone, otherwise.”
The rail lines rattle like beetle files.

He frowns. Establishes his palms.
“Tell me. Does that happen often, lamb?”