Our Autumn My Spring

I plonk down
my bag and my bum
on cold stone

I’ve given up trying to understand
the train timetable
at this station
there is one going home at 13:13
well,
there was last time
and the time before that
and
the time before that time
even though
the train timetable
at this station
says different

I look down the empty track
the air is a whitish grey
mist
and fog for company
on these platforms today

I briefly remember
being told when I was young
how sitting on cold surfaces
for long periods of time
can cause
piles

I’ve no idea is that is true

This feels like the first
real day of autumn
I can smell it
I can taste the wet branches,
the damp and dead soil
I can hear fires
being lit
in the gardens behind me
I realise
my first winter in Italy
has finally begun
and yet, for me, right now
it’s never felt more
like spring