Construction Trailer on Heap
by Laurinda Lind

When we were so stuck
and poor with no path
out, we saw an empty
trailer over a cement
cellar on the railbed

road near the old coal
silos and asked who
owned it, and he rented
it to us with no floor, but
we built one and moved

in with all three kids.
We survived a few
seasons despite
drinking what must
have been coalwater,

and the frame stayed
together though
the floor fell out on us.
And by the time we
gave up and moved

away and both remarried,
that train had traveled
so far down the tracks
it was never coming back,
and neither did we.

PHOTO: “Trailer” by Amelie, used by permission.


NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: No structures still exist on the railbed road, which has grown in to the width of an ATV track and where wooden ties, rusted iron spikes, and coal may still be found from the train that quit this route in 1972, 13 years before the setting of this poem.

AUTHOR’S PHOTO CAPTION: Motherhood, age 29.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Laurinda Lind has moved 24 times. Previous poems appeared or will appear in Barbaric Yawp, Cold Mountain Review, Communion, The Comstock Review, Ellipsis, Liminality, Mobius, Ship of Fools, Triggerfish, and Uproot.