g emil reutter- Two Poems

Wissinoming Station

There once was a train station here that rivaled those on the main line

two stories, full service, Tudor appearance, baggage handlers

ticket agents, railroad men.  Travel to anywhere from Wissinoming

Station, across from Baldwin’s estate.

Overtime the station became run down, only morning and evening

commuters arrived, Baldwin’s long gone. In the 1970s set on fire.

Once a grand station, it was replaced by a small brick shelter. Parking

lot fenced off in the 1980s, even the commuters stopped coming.

Closed in 2003.

I think of what was in this neighborhood of Philadelphia - great estates,

the football team that played here, of the grand home for women, the

bustling industry, and shopping district. I think of the hard working class,

who lived in twins and rows that still line the streets. I think of the once

grand station and how the neighborhood slowly followed it in decline.

I stand in what now passes as a railroad station.  Brick shelter scared with

graffiti, parking lot, a weedy field fenced-off with rusty fence mesh, bent

poles, platform of macadam pitted, crumbling. The cold steel rails, cement

ties, and gray ballast still carry trains, never stopping here in a part of town

long forgotten, not part of the gentrification movement. 

Keystone Street

It was a house but home it became.

It sat on the east side of Wissinoming across from the

foundry and ceramic plant. I remember cleaning dark

dust from window ledges, lingering smell of paint, watched

azaleas grow, kids sprouting, pool full, barbeque summers

sounds of trains rushing through.

Spring flowers always bloomed, heavy summer air permeated

the house and then the beautiful autumn breeze when the baby

came home, a cheerfulness engulfed the house. In winter, Christmas

lights covered the porch; ornaments and candy canes illuminated

by flickering lights on the tree. Occasion of happiness lingered on

faces of the children upon seeing stockings and presents.

We watched as families moved, much as we began the slow erosion

of relationship, noted a vacant house here and there

talk became banter

banter became argument

cheerless, the home became a gloomy house. Marriage dawdled to

a painful end.

And in our misery we found divorce, argued over the limited nothingness

of possession, watched as the Sherriff took the house. Belongings scattered

here and there. Happiness faded from the faces of the children, a melancholy

set in as the truth cast its light that in divorce both are equally at fault.  

Through shadows of misery I still see the cheerful holiday dinners, pool parties

kids being kids without burdens of life. In this light I have learned the dawdling

caused the pain, the end always in sight, the festering sores of disconnect should

have been cleansed long before gloom engulfed the house on Keystone street.

g emil reutter lives and writes in the Fox Chase neighborhood of Philadelphia, Pa. (USA) You can find him at http://gereutter.wordpress.com/