We will arrive in a strange city speaking a strange, guttural language;
it will be evening after many hours flying over endless vistas of oceans,
the moon following the sun, following the moon.
An airport festooned with signs reading Willkommen.
Our eyes bleary with sleeplessness will follow the
signs with little pictures of trains on them and hope
that we find the correct train to our home away from
home, a place surrounded by gardens which welcomes
weary travelers, unknown travelers, to rest there
at no cost, with no expectations, only to enjoy
the scent of freshly baked bread.
Contributing Op-Ed Writer: Going Against the Republican Herd
31 minutes ago