On the Night Train Headed to Mars

my reflection, a moon amidst the dark trees.

sitting here, free water bottle clacking

in the plastic holder, i am wiser than i ever was—

          the battle i was born to inherit. my ancestors’ ribs held

          between teeth, safe in the lattice of my canines.

my past self: huddled, reeking of piss. i say, wait.

wait because in time we, like plants, learn to reason with our roots—

          here is my grandfather slung across my shoulder. mother in my rib, twin

          in my eye, swimming between my cornea and the world.

there are no other passengers. the stewardess, starched

in blue, has erased herself. the journey ahead—

          i plant my grandfather in the blistering earth, wait for skin

          to loosen. an oasis, pushing upwards from the parched silt.

          his bones, harvested, smell of liquor.

          sinew rots into eyeless tree. the wisterias cratering his arms are heavy

          and black. i boil them into tea, bitter, round in its acrid sugar.

what i must do now is sweep tea from my mouth,

brush palms on my pant legs and look for martians.

i, soundless, gulping red air, waiting

for green figures to climb over the glassy dunes—

          listen: the arched silence that precedes supersession.

i stay like this until i realize

that on this planet, i am alone:

          my flag, warm with dead stars.