(Fiction) 741 - Katie Salomon
Each night I dream of a blackened sea
A century long walk along the concrete shores
Riddled with red crabs a Wellsian dystopia
Death marched to the iron shack
A neck-tie noose awaits me
Today I made it to a crystal lake
Surrounded by Poplars in bloom where
Aphrodite summoned me into the cold waters
As she arose a red hair vixen
And taught me how to love
And I’ve made love on the dirty stairs
Behind decrepit churches and washing room floors too
And yes we called that love
And I’ve made soup for the dwellers
of no-man’s land and stole their bread
when I had nothing but a silver coin in my pocket
And I picked myself up to call
Long distance my mother
Where the static silenced my sobs
And mother smiled
I’ve made the suburban blocks at sunset (noon?)
With Junk in my rucksack and when I fell down
I crawled back home with stones embedded in my kneecaps
Where the dishes piled up and I hadn’t washed for days
And brushed it off as Bohemia
I’ve stumbled the Seine in the small hours
With Sartre and Suicide on my mind in
Silver French reflections
And I’ve heard the clock tower chime
Twelve for each hour passed
Two hundred and eighty eight
I counted and in each one
A memory of you.
Katie Salomon
