a train passing

i saw a family of four living on the side of the road.
their home is a space between tents and tracks,
held together by wooden pegs and tarnished tarps that have been battered down and beaten by rain and wind and whatever people throw away that happens to land on their heads,
over their heads,
under their fingernails bleeding mud.

this colony of transplants teeters on the border between pennies and panic,
while i border somewhere between this and that normal place between sugar and shame.
my life is too normal,
is that normal,
maybe it was me panicking for them as i raced by,
too fast to cry.

i was moving too fast.
too fast to look them in the eye.
the farther away i move the more they look like dots that shouldn't be there,
against the backdrop of a perfect sky blue bleeding into the blackness of an imperfect black going nowhere but south of nothing.
almost perfect,
almost there.
i was moving too fast because i didn't want to see the things they've seen.
my life would seem like a joke that way.
their pain would suffocate me each day...
i stood mute.

i want to scream the names of their kids.
i want to memorize their faces and kiss their scars,
and tell them that they are not far from humanity,
or far from being forgotten at all.

those kids looked happy.
they were playing with each other.
they didn't do anything wrong.
watch them sing beautiful words and paint pictures of hope with their songs.
dream, child.
i want to scream.

wake up to love,
fall down,
get back up and try again.

i think all i can do is cry.
i'm on a train moving away from them.