This poem is a bit bittersweet for me, as it was written in September 2006 while I took the Southwest Chief back to Los Angeles after summer break in Maryland. At the time, I was very excited about living in Flatland, a house off campus that a couple of friends and I were renting for sophomore year. Unfortunately, Flatland quickly turned into a disaster that drove me away from some of the social groups I’d been closest to as a freshman and that still makes me a bit scared of the idea of living with friends.
September 2006, aboard the Amtrak Southwest Chief
Do you hear them sneaking, creeping?
Do you see them seeming normal?
Do you wonder, while you’re sleeping,
if they’re waking, if they’re working?
Is the surface all it’s seeming?
Is there something more to look for?
Are there questions you’re not asking,
are there people you’re not asking?
Do you wonder, do you worry,
of the world always hidden?
Do you think of pipes and wiring,
tunnels, catwalks, access closets?
Hidden in our ev’ry structure
lies a wor’ld we don’t think of:
children wonder, adults forget
that it’s even there at all.