There is Work
Looking out of the window you see it,
an ancient tugboat, cutting through ice and frigid waters,
softly nudging the barge into place.
It is delicate work, precise and painstaking,
fighting cold and currents,
fighting the February wind.
The crew is bundled against the elements.
Thick down coats restrict their work, still
they persist. The work must be done.
And then it passes. The train moves on.
Your view of the river is all broken ice and white,
flashing past in an almost blur. But the image remains.
This is your life, bundled against the elements
of pain and past and darkness,
your personal winter.
And yet, you persist. Never mind the flat line of your heart,
the daily war against the dark. Never mind all of it.
There is work to be done.
About this poem
The picture was taken from a train window on the way to New York City. I had to wait for its poem to emerge.