And on the seventh day, God built me a castle.

It is raining on the sabbath,
so I wake up slow as God

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.


About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire
This entry was posted in Food, Photography by Amy Leigh Cutler, Poetry, Summer, travel and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to And on the seventh day, God built me a castle.

  1. Well damn. Again. You have such a way with cadence. I feel like we were sitting on some city steps somewhere sharing a cigarette just before sunrise, one of those conversations about everything and nothing at all — and this poem is what came out.

    I had no idea how to explain the mood outside of a description of the setting. Contemplative, somber and intimate? Nah. I’ll stick with the above.

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