Union Station by Frank C. Modica

My wife and I sit on a wooden bench
in the Great Hall, waiting with friends.
A vast vaulted ceiling opens up above us:
newly scoured limestone walls,
granite and marble statues, stained glass windows;
so different from the dark shadows and grimy surfaces
I saw during my last passage through this transportation temple.
A giggle of children run through the aisles,
playing hide and seek under the tall benches,
drowning out announcements of train arrivals
and departures with their high-pitched laughter.
When I return from the food hall with a burger and fries,
I notice a newly arrived flock of plainly dressed young men,
bonneted women, and tow-headed children
sitting across from our little group.
Ten feet separate us across the terrazzo floor,
but it could have been centuries—drownings,
beheadings, deportations harried them
out of Europe, onto the great plains.
I want to chat with them about their history,
where they came from, how long is their layover.
One of the young men smiles at me, I smile back.
He asks, “Where are you going?”
“Boston,” I say. “We’re going to Boston.”



Frank C. Modica taught children with special needs for 34 years. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Packingtown Review, Cold Mountain Review, and Monterey Poetry Review. Frank's first chapbook, What We Harvest, nominated for an Eric Hoffer book award, was published in 2021 by Kelsay Books.