The Wreck of the Five Oh One

On December 18th, 2017, Amtrak 501 derailed outside Du Pont. Three people were killed.

Less than two years later, I rode that same stretch of track coming home from Vancouver BC. The cause of the accident was well understood, precautions had been taken, hundreds of trains had passed that point safely carrying thousands of passengers.

I was still afraid.

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The Wreck of the Five Oh One

Pulling out of Olympia in a dream,
southbound alongside the Sound
tidal flats and rain beside the train.
Cruising downhill toward Du Pont
on that new high-speed rail
faster than I remember, bats out of hell
banshee whistle says we’re coming in
tracks spit sparks under screaming wheels
I feel the skid. I feel the shake.

Commuters tumbled out of cars to help,
pulled screaming people from the wreckage.
A ton of metal creaked and swayed, the sword of Damocles
the wrath of God hanging from the Nisqually overpass.
She staggered away from the train
blinded by blood and dirt,
couldn’t find her phone.

For the rest of her life
she would search for words to say how it was:
like a Coke can being recycled with people inside
like blood-spattered laundry on a line over the interstate
like the jack in the box
like the jack in the knife

I shiver awake in my seat and find
I’m holding the hand of a stranger.
“I know,” he says,
“I know.”

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