← v21n3, Spring 2023
Poetry · Volume 21, Number 3

The Dragon

Traveling by train between cities in the East

between engagements to speak—often

too tired to sleep,

his white shirt like a nightgown, he climbed

out of the rocking bed and walked stumbling

from car to car

of the dark train—the whistle a scream as if

a dragon hunted the mountains hurtling

itself through the woods,

the iron body rattling to break, the wheels

humming and the coal fire mind

of the dragon furious

and clear diving down. It wasn’t looking

for him, although it was him,

Abraham Lincoln,

bleary in the belly of the thing going

down through the dark

his dying country found.