(no subject)
hell is the block
coincidentally or not
somewhere between the vatican and our hotel.
from the map, we should know
we're going the right way.
but this isn't new york city
and five long blocks don't equal a mile,
or whatever it is.
this is hell and here
here they measure distance in kilometers
and i don't even know how long one is.
hell is my sneakers,
too small,
my socks have a hole in the heel
rubbing the soft spots on my feet
into the fake leather rubber
of the inside of my shoe.
i have a blister the size of an eyeball
and i wish i hadn't left God in vatican city.
hell is we're walking so fast
because we're separated from my mother,
and cross your fingers and hope
not pray
that she is back in the room
lying down for a nap.
because if she's not
we'll barely have time to wipe the sweat off our brows
before walking to the nearest police station
adn we don't even know how to describe my mother in italian
so walk to the store for an italian-english dictionary
so walk to the hotel for a picture of her maybe
so walk to the united states embassy and if she's not there
walk all the way home just in case she went on ahead
without us.
hell is all the taxis
with their lights off.
hell is watching my dad and brother
walk three feet in front of me
watching the sweat on their backs
slowly seep through their shirts
like those ads
for the leading brand of paper towels
like a butterfly
or a candlestick
and all the while imagining
what rorschach smudge the person three feet behind me sees.
hell is a huge crowd of waldo's
where everyone looks like the one we're looking for
and if i scan the crowd
it's like my stomach is skipping rope
because every two seconds
i've found her.
hell is when we get back and she's there on the steps
crying she's so happy we're here
and i don't even care
because my feet are swollen
and my arms
hang like weights
and i've swallowed
so much sweat
from licking my upper lip
i just want a nice
cold
tall glass
of water.
coincidentally or not
somewhere between the vatican and our hotel.
from the map, we should know
we're going the right way.
but this isn't new york city
and five long blocks don't equal a mile,
or whatever it is.
this is hell and here
here they measure distance in kilometers
and i don't even know how long one is.
hell is my sneakers,
too small,
my socks have a hole in the heel
rubbing the soft spots on my feet
into the fake leather rubber
of the inside of my shoe.
i have a blister the size of an eyeball
and i wish i hadn't left God in vatican city.
hell is we're walking so fast
because we're separated from my mother,
and cross your fingers and hope
not pray
that she is back in the room
lying down for a nap.
because if she's not
we'll barely have time to wipe the sweat off our brows
before walking to the nearest police station
adn we don't even know how to describe my mother in italian
so walk to the store for an italian-english dictionary
so walk to the hotel for a picture of her maybe
so walk to the united states embassy and if she's not there
walk all the way home just in case she went on ahead
without us.
hell is all the taxis
with their lights off.
hell is watching my dad and brother
walk three feet in front of me
watching the sweat on their backs
slowly seep through their shirts
like those ads
for the leading brand of paper towels
like a butterfly
or a candlestick
and all the while imagining
what rorschach smudge the person three feet behind me sees.
hell is a huge crowd of waldo's
where everyone looks like the one we're looking for
and if i scan the crowd
it's like my stomach is skipping rope
because every two seconds
i've found her.
hell is when we get back and she's there on the steps
crying she's so happy we're here
and i don't even care
because my feet are swollen
and my arms
hang like weights
and i've swallowed
so much sweat
from licking my upper lip
i just want a nice
cold
tall glass
of water.