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M AY 2 0 1 5 4 9 getaway IllustratIonbyEdKIng AdmissionsAdmissions Rolling Motion triggers emotion in Amtraks new writers residencies. By gwen thompson U nless youre a snowbird win- ter recedes from the Pine Tree state leaving you so crazed with cabin fever youll leap at the chance to travel anywhere else. Visit- ing friends whod recently moved to Pitts- burgh wouldnt help my vitamin-D defi- ciency or post-winter pallor but an article about Amtraks writers residencies http blog.amtrak.com201409writers-selected- amtrak-residency-program AmtrakResi- dency convinced me the long uninterrupt- ed stretch of quiet time on board would be just the ticket to spring ahead with a writing project. Id missed the deadline to apply but that didnt mean I couldnt DIY it. I hadnt ridden Amtrak in a while com- pared to planes theres such a Brobdignag- ian amount of leg room I think Ive wan- dered into business class by mistake. My plan is to undertake a structural analysis of the mystery Ive written but before weve left the station Im already feeling such a strong tug towards my destination that I dive into a poem I wrote years ago about counting the cars of an endless freight train in Pittsburgh with my father who was born there. When I realized in grad school that half of writing is revisingand that I did not under- stand how to revise poetryI knew Id nev- er be a poet much as I appreciated the genius of my Nobel-laureate professors critiques grilling me about what each and every word was doing on that page. Re-reading my train poem as I ride the rails reminds me of his lit- mus testif I dont know it doesnt belong thereand by some non-Newtonian law of motion the real train sweeps my mind along with it too swiftly to stall out over the train in my poem. Limbo is a safe space to experi- ment even in a field thats not your forte be- cause nothings permanent. As we roll along at a pace that dopplers our own whistle from an augmented to a major triad time folds in on itself rippling me back to other journeys up and down the Northeast Corridor to see my dying father when I found some small comfort wonder- ing when else Id ever read Don Quixotean accomplishment my dad an English teach- er would appreciate. With the blare of Or- wellian screens assaulting us everywhere from elevators to gas pumps trains are a rare refuge of the concentrated quiet and