Athens is the New Berlin by Rushika Wick


Poetry by Rushika Wick



There are worse situations to be in

than at a coffee bar, wasting time

in an airport beyond the fields


falling in love with the notion of home;

imperfections of dead flowers,

cold water in the shower system,


a collection of salvaged rubber bands –

lavender and blue, sitting in the kitchen,

waiting for their moment of utility.


Away was what we dreamed of –

staggering about after dark

screwing the Iliad up against the wall,


we left – halflings seeking Ouzo

to locate ourselves in this salt Acropolis,

wrapping Midas fleece about our minds,


eating raw honey and blinded by art

but all the while, a strange longing

building in the basement of the soul,


immured graffiti messages in

squatted ateliers, punctured

by the burning of passports,


a longing for useless rubber bands

and a beautiful broken chair

to sit on at the days end.