Germany, Phone Calls From

~Natalie Lam Germany well enough: here there was rain, hauptbahnhof, everyplace-strasse, vodka and blood cherries carried six blocks home or somewhere, narrow skylights— enough that you closed your eyes (past 5000 miles of airspace and the transatlantic pause) and saw it, fragile and exact as my spine climbing stairs. That you found in stones and smashed glass nothing of body or blood, only how your flesh might wrap my journeyed bones like false fruit: the shiny you were there shipped snug around me to America— love is not more than transparency, of the small unsaid across oceans.