The Train, by Ivana Svobodová

The train flows through the midnight of tunnels,
hums inside ribs.
Raindrops wink on the window
as they say goodbye to platforms
that give them a grin full of bones of cobblestones.
Rustling leaves wrap around fingers
the monuments of the abandoned stations.
yearning of wires, mires in the mist on the glass,
bared teeth of the lightning-catcher
that swallows the autumn like a bitter burning cure.
Then a plain opens its palm
where the most beautiful girls get out in Olomouc
and reach up to the racks,
where the most beautiful girls get out in Ostrava
and put on their coats,
where the most beautiful girls get out in Oświęcim
and haul their suitcases out of the wagons.


Ivana Svobodová lives in Olomouc in the Czech Republic. She studied English, Dutch, and Spanish and currently works as a translator. She writes both poems and short fiction. She grew up devouring myths and fairy tales and has never fully recovered. She loves travelling and discovering new places. She fell hopelessly in love with Iceland. She enjoys wood carving and still has all her fingers. Her projects can be found at 

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