This isn’t the sleek Acela.
It’s rickety, with green peeling paint,
nine hours jostling in a swaying car
across Java, my seventy-year-old husband,
our three young children, and me,
windows greasy, loud music blaring—
Hey I love you Hey I love you Hey I love you
in Bahasa Indonesia,
trying to keep our distance—
the only Westerners, no shared language,
fears of uncleanliness,
but men, women and children press against us,
our blue-eyed baby babbling,
captivating everyone,
and soon we’re babbling too, singing along,
swaying to the music like sea waves,
as we float on our little family raft
in an ocean of friendliness,
as smiling food vendors enter,
offering peanut sauce, chicken satay on little sticks,
sticky rice wrapped in banana leaves,
sliced mango, creamy black tea,
as outside, water buffaloes pull plows
all day long in endless neon green rice fields,
as inside, we’re all singing the same song.