The Postcard of My City

Image by stevanaksentijevic from Pixabay

The Postcard of My City

My city, after sunset.

I don’t see you, but I hear you.

Fight them with noise, the newspaper said.

My grandmother told me to stay away from politics.

My memory is vague, but I know

this has all happened before.

We export angry people,

though you wouldn’t know it

if you could hear this silence.

Neat rows of red windows, closed.

Two dogs and a bird.

Acacias in bloom.

A sunny day.

When I was a child

I thought I would be able to fly

one day.

I have always been afraid of the dark.

Once I found a wedding ring in the floorboards

in my hotel room.

I gave it to the receptionist.

I don’t know if it was returned.

We export angry people,

those who stay are the musical ones.

He proposed to her on a cruiser, our guide said.

She turned him down, of course.

so he threw her passport overboard.

I don’t know how she returned home.

Maybe she never did.

I hear there is a shortage of angry people

in some countries.

Conspiracy theorists say this is all a lie.

My school uniform is a pair of silk pijamas

and an elegant blouse.

Sometimes, in my dreams,

I am riding a winged horse.

I know this has all happened before,

I am not sure when.

Fight them with noise, the newspaper said.

My grandmother told me to stay away from politics.

Everything was different once upon a time.

And what a good time it was.

He said in his letters that he missed her,

but I am too old to believe in fairy tales now.






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