Fall 1991 • Vol. XIII No. 4 Poetry |

Train Stop

The train stops.I'm trying to remember the name of a womanat a train stop like this, years ago,who said she was possessed by demonsshe called Enslaved Selves.Gave them nameslike Toxic Tamlina, Malignant Majesta.But wasn't her real name Karen—or was it Kama or Karla?I gaze out the windowat the city's lunch counter lights,wondering whyit feels like I've been herein some subzero past stuck in time.Nickname and all.At a railroad crossing,run-down place, one with nothing coming—either way. Two tow trucksstuck in mud.Green light stuck on green.Yet it is as potentially dangerousas an uninspected dam.I see the shadow of a womancoming across the tracks.Her name might be Karen.Remember myself saying, "Nicemeeting you. Hope you dispossessyour . . . yourself—" and her correcting me,saying, "Selves," and, "Thanks."Very rational. On second thoughther name might have been Karlaand the city might have been Santa Feor Savannah. Caught between foot trailsand foothills, it's hard to say.I've liv

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Turtle Soup

By Marilyn Chin

The train stops.I'm trying to remember the name of a womanat a train stop like this, years ago,who said she was possessed by demonsshe called Enslaved Selves.Gave them nameslike Toxic […]

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