Before you know what kindness really is,

you must lose things​

 

Come through Grand Central Station,

put the violin down on the little shelf,

pay the fare for Briarcliff
at the booth,

count your money,
clench the ticket in your hand
run for the train, track 11, make it just in time,

find a seat, look out the window
take in the chug, the whistle,

​

You don’t realize for 15 minutes
why it was so easy to run to track 11,
but then you do
because the violin, which slows you down, is still on the shelf

at the ticket booth, not slowing you down,
and you here, hurtling away
in 2 million pounds of metal
away from the violin
away from music, responsibility, and grandma’s one gift to you

​

It all comes clear: violin, loyalty, hard work,
on the train of no resistance. You take the next exit.

​

You send up a prayer to the God of lost things,

people, souls, promises,
health, release for the captives, and yes, the violin.

You ask for restoration, protection, all of it.

You board the next train, back the other way,

send a silver shield,
St. Anthony, Artemis, all the protectors

​

At Grand Central, on the little shelf
the violin waits for you, its battered case intact, rose/brick dust all on it still

you pat the neck of the thing,
your gratitude has no word, before you know what kindness is
you must lose things
you head back for track 11
wait your hour, catch the later train

​

You will get to Grandma’s station in Briarcliff, walk to her house,

set yourself up with a music stand
start to play the Bach D minor.
She will listen.
You will never mention this violin’s little vacation on the train station shelf,

because Grandma said never to put it down.

You will never put it down again.

​

Meanwhile, the Bach rings sad and true in the musty parts of her old house.

​

This you know. You could lose the one thing your Grandma gave you
you could lose your hand to injury
you could lose your self-respect when you drink too much with the governor’s son

​

But you never want to carry so many things
that you don’t know what you are meant to hold onto

​

And when the run seems too easy, turn back, and see what else waits

like Grandma’s old violin,
like dignity, like being awake,
like the memory of what kindness is

on a 2 million pound train