Ghost Train Body by Jennifer Lothrigel

One night I rode her
through Los Angeles.
There was an older Turkish
woman seated behind me,
gently humming, feverishly
knitting a blue scarf with shaky hands.
Seated next to her,
a woman
with her shirt pulled down
under her left breast,
was feeding a baby boy.
An androgynous teenager
swaying their hands back and forth
like a river
and following them with their neck
sat beside me.
Soon,
the teen leaned their head on my shoulder,
I leaned on their head,
I joined my right hand to the back of their left hand,
we flowed our hands
back and forth
as one invincible fish.
The Turkish woman,
fumbled the unfinished scarf around
the mother and child,
the loose threads resting in her lap.

Jennifer Lothrigel ​

is a poet and artist in the San Francisco Bay area.  Her chapbook 'Pneuma' was published last year through Liquid Light Press.  Her work has also been published in Arcturus, Deracine, Rag Queen Periodical, Peeking Cat Poetry, We'Moon and elsewhere.