polish train

we whizzed by
countrysides dotted with
red-roofed tiny houses
in which women stirred pots
and kneaded dough
in the slowly fading summer afternoon
of three-o-clock.
fields spanned further than i could trace
with my eyes.
i had never seen such colors
as those that i witnessed
giving life to the grass
and the flowers
sprouting from the soil.
at the crossroads
people stopped
on their bikes,
in their little cars
and watched the train
with indifferent eyes
as we passed
clanking, rattling, no seats.
as i stood
at the open windows of that old train,
i found that
i could feel
impossibly alive.