In the Train Poem by Kristin Dimitrova

In the train
an old Hungarian
woman without
front teeth
told me that two
of her children
had died
and her oldest son

is now in America -
these are the photos,
there he is,
this is his family.
She smoked Bulgarian
cigarettes or rather
one very long
cigarette from Budapest

to Bucharest
and she said
‘Now I have
nothing to live for'.
Said it simply,
plainly, flatly,
with the dignity
of the toothless.

Translated by Gregory O'Donoghue