intended. I’ve been reading
East of Eden and Rilke’s New Poems,
so that German and English
can build a city together in me.
I make promises less than I used to,
but I’ve still got a long way to go.
My dreams have gotten all woven together.
I’m in my parents living room learning
to bind a book, or in the locker room
of a restaurant after shift with an old fling.
I’ve dreamt I was lost in a hospital,
terrified of what was growing inside me.
I wake up slower in Vienna, stuck to the bed
like peanut butter sticks to the roof of my mouth.
I think of Paris often, and hear French floating
around in the front of my mind.
I don’t know how to travel without travelling more.
I keep wondering when I’ll catch a night train
to some other country. I’m grounded here
by work and a bed with fitted sheets.
I’m not leaving as long as I have a key,
but my spirit that wanders is itching.
I’ll go back to Cafe Leopold Hewelka today,
and get out my watercolor set, and make something
for God to hang on his fridge.
I am getting older every work day,
every time I do not look out the window
for castles and water. I am sleeping more,
and with a heaviness that is new.
Today is God’s day. I remind myself
of that with pink lipstick and
plastic earrings to match my blue hair.
I’ll be young in Vienna
if it kills me.
I’ll walk out in the rain
to find warmth.