Rathenauplatz (21.06.2025)
this is for the pain and the piss,
for folded clothes in ikea bags
packed on a bike’s handlebars.
this is for the move, the fear,
for my time in the year since.
i write this for permanence.
i write this for my silence,
where i sat late into nights
gulping down magnitudes
of the microliters pipetted
in ninety-six well plates for
studies i never understood.
I remember gently mocking soccer fans
(the heavy hitter, slapping lampposts with the toothless sticker, the vodka cranberry winter, they took turns riding my bike barefoot up and down the street and i told them i was surprised.),
I remember a drunk professional
(“have you ever considered working with disadvantaged youth? i have seen how you interact with people. i feel like you might understand them.” i needed the job, the housing, but refused lying to him.),
I remember Mike and his cronies
(the hammock gifted, the swelling in his foot lifted, he could speak with everyone and everyone knew him, they robbed them but spoke of kind hearts and lonely hearts, we may never speak again.),
I remember my Netherland friend
(another talker to anyone and anything, he called my bike a missile and laughed as it was built in the style of a rocket, we spoke of smuggling, we spoke of cycling, our stories as lonesome travelers.),
I remember sitting there in silence.
my books were pressed and presented to the free library,
(this kiosk an old man tended to on wednesday evenings,
i will always remember thanking him for glass cleanings
and his sorting that helped me buzz along bookshelves.)
i used to read there into the night and dogear pages,
smoke in the humidity, the loner light, the lone light,
the lighter, alone at night, at night and through night,
avoiding going home to the bed i knew wasn’t lonely.
i have many memories here.
the trees overhead rustling
through the headphones
and bocce ball groupies
asking again for a light.
they play until night.
