- Nocturne: Oneiros: A Haitian Train
not yet ghosts bodies unraveling into white of raiment what would be blur hastens turns back two open hands the colorlessness of palms fast in the new dye indigo stain fingers wrapped in leaves blood stopped whir of wheels along the track flash of body a stutter mouthful of lace . . .
two dark women in bare feet in the rush air swift past the closed and transparent windows of a haitian train bright of their long clothes sweeps bush and nightgrass like low birds flying what glimpse they give is dance startled into some new intention fugitive body of wind from out of dream somewhere to someone calling they run like a fright or a comfort no mark on the soft ground
white is a whisper a candle a shroud fitful light of summons the serviteur’s lingering breath . . .
Rachel E. Harding, a native of Atlanta, is a Latin American historian, writer and arts consultant living in Denver, Colorado. Her work has appeared previously in Callaloo as well as in other literary magazines and in anthologies.