Arab Woman on a Swedish Train
To Molly & Kyle & the warm spirit of Kayla
Her eyes drift open and close
as a silk veil in a desert breeze.
Outside, she sits with chilled cheek
pressed against icy glass.
bundled blonde blue eyes fill her world now.
She is tired and her eyelids are slowing the cold.
Her hair is black and skin olive
from generations of sun
and sand that reach out to warm blue seas.
Inside she is warm, inside the desert
the sand is warm,
the breeze caresses her skin
and her veils drift,
An ancient voice whispers into her ear
of the ways of the past,
the ways of the desert.
and she is warm.
The train lurches to a stop.
She awakes and can not
pull the cotton frilled scarf tight enough
to keep out bitter cold, bitter chill
of the concrete, of the blue eyes,
watching, waiting, scanning far-away aisles
for empty seats.
A man weary from his toil
thinks of faraway,
watches the last burning red of the sun