Beeching has been at work in her brain.
Branch lines are closing. No train
of thought as tracks disappear
in a tangled undergrowth where,
tearful, she loses hold of time.
"I must get back down the main line
before the wrong sort of memories
cause wheels to lose their grip.
I'm sliding back to nowhere fast.
Wasn’t I your mother once?"
How can she get back home
when connections are closed?