With a great silent sound
as station after station passes
a woman in a rose-covered satin shawl
gingerly rests her head against the glass

the papers that will bring her home here
in a backpack hugged desperately to her
the beaded bracelet from her daughter
slipping down her waning wrist

with fearless eyes and steely jaw
she slows her pulse to just over normal
the black columns holding tonnes of city
whipping past her rattling window

clickety-clack
clickety-clack
clickety-clack

the tired train track
beats like a weary old heart.