she asked me:
“take me to your places”
a pause chases lips – I
stop to wonder
if that means the bed of flowers I once saw
tended each night by a sole sanyassi
raised from boyhood, smooth and black-eyed
filled with pride at the task of arranging
a marital nest by a holy pool,
where a god and his consort nightly meet
to scatter petals to the wailing
of each scorched dawn, or

the hillside hospital

which was slipping down

to a seaside town, where my wrecked feet would carry
the wonder of doctors – all pins and scorn –
while I, smooth and black-eyed
would shudder, withdraw
from antiseptic green walls, and
various tools

by the time we met,
both were gone.

About Benjamin Norris

Published writer of short stories, long stories, poems. Well received art critic and cultural commentator for Berlin magazines. Collaborator with operatic societies. Co-writer of fictional historic psycholinguistic journals. Lecturer of architecture and art history at a Budapest University. View all posts by Benjamin Norris

One response to “places

  • adeeyoyo

    I love this piece, Benjamin. I have come to believe that everything has its time and place… your descriptions are wonderful with the …hospital slipping down… which is just what happens when the town grows to encompass surrounding buildings.

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