wore velvet slippers the color of wine
& slept with a stranger as the train
crossed the gobi northbound to mongolia.
in the center of mongolia felt lonely on earth.
forgot every language i had ever known.
photographs in my wallet were unfamiliar.
childhood in upper manhattan was suddenly unremarkable.
what happened to my life as the train tilted around
a curve. standing still near a statue of stalin
around sunset, i hadn't the slightest clue.
if only i had made a list, jotting the years
down one by one.
Raised in a community of refugees,
Evelyn Posamentier lives and writes in California.