she wore pink-flowered pyjamas
and I really didn't believe
she was the angel of death
as she claimed
and I agreed to carry her across 3rd Ave
only because she asked me to
and because she had no shoes on

but when I set her down
on the hood of a Toyota
legally parked by the curb
she suddenly flew off with a smile
saying something like I'll be back

but now I have no idea
how much longer to wait for her
standing here on the sidewalk

next to a wastebasket that reeks of
half-consumed take-out dreams
in Styrofoam wrappings
and I'm not sure if I have shoes on

Paul Sohar has published poems in the Kenyon Review, Poetry Motel, Rattle, Chiron, and elsewhere. He has published seven books of translations from the Hungarian and a volume of his own poems, Homing Poems. His latest book is True Tales of a Fictitious Spy, a work of "creative nonfiction" about "the gulags of Hungary."