A new poem by Helen Addy

Single to Inverness

Inside the shell of the train, the sound
of nuts cracking, the phoneless looking out
at branches scraping the sides, a girl
covering her ears with her father’s hands.

Rain making fine cuts in the glass,
the sun is a broken plate, each cloud
shredded into lace, trees carved
for a second then healed.

In a tunnel, windows are black mirrors,
a woman burying her fingers knuckle-deep
in her boyfriend’s beard, the untouched
pocketing her lit face like a torch.