A Boy on the Platform

The train pulled away,
carrying you in its belly
and belching black smoke,
leaving behind a throng
jostling on the platform.

I knew
it was the last time
I would ever see you.

Standing there, I hoped
that for a few miles
you might look out the window—
watching poles and trees zip by—

and trace my name
on the dirty glass
with a twinge of sadness.

A small gift
to validate my own.