A Good Day Hannah Speiller
When I was nine, my father took me on the train. We walked all the way to the station, and the walk was long. He clung to my coat collar, pulling me through the sea of giants onto the 7 train, and he found me a seat. It must’ve been a magical seat because it appeared from out of nowhere, but he was always doing magical things like that when I was nine. I twirled about to face the window and watched as the city sites blended together, making an endless painting. And when the train leaned, we leaned too
Poetry
until it lurched
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and stopped to let more giants on. And I told my daddy it was hot with all those giants in there, and he nodded his head and said yes, it was hot. “Hot enough to make ice cream melt, Daddy.” “Hot enough to make the wicked witch melt, Toots.” With another lurch, he took my hand and we squeezed our way off that train and away from those giants. That was a good day.
Spring 2012