Her dark-earth eyes, I swear, match Mount Sahand,
its volcanic ash base—unreachable
sweet chocolate—standing mammoth and grand
outside our train window. Untouchable,
she calls herself, baptized Assyrian
Christian, inflecting in Persian because
she must. She left her parents in Tehran.
Snarls she won’t go back. Her fingernails claw
the seat’s dark-blue cloth. We’re beyond Tabriz,
closing in on Turkey’s border. When we’re
across, I strip this veil, she quickly seethes
in English. Winces. Bites her lip in fear.
Glances. Yelps a sheepish giggle and sighs.
Her mountainous eyes caress the bright sky.
Roger Armbrust
March 3, 2009
