A poem by R.M. Dolin, April 2026
Woman In The Red Hijab
Unassumingly they roll past the quiet part of town to
the painted block truck stop where corn grows to the edge of
parking lot gravel. A boy, his uncle, their vintage Harley,
and a caravan of big rigs idling side-by-side like
carnival cargo waiting to rediscover their next destiny.
It’s a place where you lift the handle of self-serve pumps
and only after step inside to pay.
The waitress, in her gold linen dress, white apron, and heavy-soled shoes,
who calls them ‘hon,’ says they can sit anywhere even though
she already knows they’ll take the counter. In a promise never broken,
the boy doesn’t tell his mom about drinking chocolate milk while a trucker
teaches him how to poke holes in pancakes so syrup better soaks in.
He doesn’t tell her because he doesn’t want her to cry
and lately it seems everything makes her cry.
He never mentions the men on motorcycles who quietly come in
wiping road dust off their leathers as they take seats at the counter.
The biggest biker who sits next to the boy is a giant;
his hair is rough, his beard unkempt,
and the boy isn’t sure he shouldn’t be afraid.
When the giant catches the boy staring at a forearm tattoo,
his lips tighten around monster scary tobacco-stained teeth
capable of tearing apart flesh with the ease of eating
syrup soaked pancakes. But the giant softens to a smile
as he rolls up the sleeve on his other arm and points to
a beautiful image of a Berber woman in a red hijab
whose hidden face reveals seductively shaped almond eyes
of limestone green highlighted by mysterious indigo shadows
made more pronounced by long black lashes
and reflectively sad tears puddling in the corners.
“This is my favorite,” the giant confesses in a lonesome way
unknown to the boy but unmistakable to every man at the counter.
“It’s to remember the woman who broke my heart.”
He lowers his head to share an essential secret
boy’s have no hope of understanding but learn to never forget.
“The thing is,” the giant starts his hard-earned wisdom,
“if you love someone strong enough for long enough,
they’ll break your heart.” The road weary traveler in dusty leather
looks at the boy in a deeply piercing way that penetrates his soul,
“just because they don’t love you,
don’t mean you don’t love them. . .and maybe if you’re lucky,
you’re able to convince yourself,
they once did. . .and maybe still do.”
From chapter seven of the R.M. Dolin novel, “An Unsustainable life – The Book of Issac.” Issac recalls a ride into the Wisconsin countryside he took with his Uncle Darwin on his uncle’s vintage Harley when Issac was ten. When they stop to eat, essential life lessons men accumulate through life get shared.
Inspiration for this poem came from a visit to an ancient oasis near the Moroccan Sahara called Aït Benhaddou (where Gladiator was filmed). An artist there used natural dye paints he would burn once his painting was complete to bring out the colors. The artist had a small painting of a Berber woman in a red hijab hanging on the wall of his 1,000 year old adobe that was so seductively enchanting it haunted me for days until finally I wrote this poem. He used saffron for his red paint, alfalfa for green, sugar water for black, and indigofera legumes for blue. He’d burn the paper from beneath once his painting was done and the heat would both fix the colors and magically make them beautifully vibrant.
Comments are closed