Athens Is The New Berlin


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.