When are you coming home?

I’m on Amtrak getting ready to go to San Diego to hear the rehearsal for Imagine Dead Imagine


remembering the three years I came down every week to teach my students at San Diego State MFA who were terrific. I like the train lilting down the tracks, the part where you see the ocean rushing by and Mark would make me chicken drumsticks for the trip. Today I have only hard boiled eggs and an apple. But it will be fine.  I like being hungry on the train. It feels good.


My friend Karen Shoemaker is thinking of coming to California by train from the Midwest, and if she does, she’ll be snug in her berth writing her heart out, but also reading, staring out the window and reminding men on the train that she’s married. Part of Karen’s novel, Meaning of Names happens on a train, so I think she’s always figuring out ways to get back to the train and the story. We’ve taken off now in the early morning light.  This is one of the newer smoother trains, so I can read and type pretty easily.  The old ones are so bumpy you feel like your brain is being jarred.  I have five manuscripts to edit so no window gazing for me. Well maybe a little.  I’m on the ocean side, and the ocean is always talking to me and in the immortal words of Brendan Constantine,

“Oh yes, the oceans.

They asked what they always ask

And I promised I’d repeat it,

Why do you never call?

                                When are you coming home?”

Published in: on May 25, 2017 at 5:17 am  Leave a Comment  

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