Each summer, sharp-tongued tanti Fana
would swing and sway as she sat next to me on the train,
her eyes closed in repose.
She was as tall as she was wide, and now, I realize,
she was at a point, when hot flashes came and went
making the skin 'round her throat glow, the color of red mud.

Each summer, as the train curved along
the contours of the earth, I daydreamed from dawn to dusk,
on the cracked leather seat of a second-class cabin.
The train cut through towns, big and small, and once in a while
I'd be surprised to see children my age, gathered along the way
to wave, and throw stones at the passing train.