Swaying to the movement of the train
this standing passenger
this pale-haired Polish girl
holding her open book
frowns and half-smiles in harmony,
it must be,
with the process of her reading.
Lost in her language, lost here
perhaps among the foreign voices,
this is a different landscape of the mind,
the mother tongue a refuge now, the
embrace of the familiar, the smell of home.
Here is a book among the phones
and tablets, newspapers and vacancies
filling the train. She grips with one hand
the back of a seat for balance, the other
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