Ode to Skytrain by Yan Sison

I let the frontal lobe develop and wander from

Production Way-University to Waterfront.

I consulted various, varied sages:

cacophony of the abrasive train tracks, screeching

from one end to another; the smiling Southeast-Asian

from the advertisements tell me to fly to Nam;

I then plucked out the cracked navy-blue leather seat

besides me, to remind me that I am going anywhere but

home. Home. Home? I found solace,

a talisman from hair strand that fell out from the

hijab of an Iranian woman,

Doostatun daram, doostatun daram, she said,

smooching the screen of her phone.

I learned what it means to give space, what it means

to put the bag in front of me, all in all whilst

holding the yellow tattered pole.

I travelled through realm of space and time:

glistening sea in between Columbia and

Sapperton. I then unsealed the Contigo,

sip the imaginary Japanese whisky,

and say Ah, this is my Copacabana.

Patience was taught of me by a jaded tradesman

scolding my abled, naive young body for taking out

the reserved seat for the pregnant woman. I was sixteen

when the transit officer taught me that I had to get off

to see more of the sea. I didn’t

know why people did it then.

Yan Sison is a poet based on the traditional, ancestral, and unceded territory of the xʷməθkʷəy̓əm (Musqueam), Sḵwx̱wú7mesh (Squamish), and səlilwətaɬ (Tsleil-Waututh) Nations. Some of his works were published in Pearls, a creative writing anthology.