Arab Woman on a Swedish Train

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 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 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 the cold

of the concrete, of the blue eyes

A man weary from his toil

thinks of the faraway,

watches the last burning red of the sun


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