I lost a child on the streets of Krakow.
Somewhere near the center of the square,
women queued with pigeons.
The ending I wanted
was illegal.
My cousin came on a train
from Romania.
Like an accordion winding down a carnival,
we tried
hard to find the absent word. Loss
layered like velvet curtains
round our lips.
The cathedral held a rat
in reserve, its eyes approaching vermillion.
I felt a color. Not an expression
of life.
Stones steamed with the imprint of ancient chariots.
I crossed my heart, told my cousin: we have always
been running, letting the next breath escape.
A couple ended an argument under neon. I held tight
the ticket. What happened is unlikely
to explain. I must have carried
it wrong.
–
Alina Stefanescu was born in Romania and lives in Alabama. Her first poetry collection, Stories to Read Aloud to Your Fetus (Finishing Line Press, 2017), included Pushcart-nominated poems. She won the 2019 River Heron Review Poetry Prize, and she tweets at @aliner.