Wednesday, May 6, 2015


Kathmandu you know what I feel for you. The scar you've left on my heart.

Give me your wishes and ill swaddle them deep and warm inside my insecurities.

Breath through the craters that plague your ruined mind; scrape against your lungs.

I broke down somewhere between Tamil and Jawalakhel's traffic circle.  The blind cafe gave me relief.

I turned aside tiger balm, couldn't get rid of slick shoes slinging songs.  The mountains climbed higher as the days wore on.

That hill.  Teaching English.  Carrying a television on the back of a motorbike, past a corner and into the sunrise of Fish Tail.  I couldn't believe the things you were showing me, the people you held inside.

Kathmandu you remember me.  I was only there for a short time.  You gave me a name, Barroon it was.  You startled me in the night as I walked up the path to our home.

You welcomed me with a bowl of lentils and a folded hat.  You showed me who you are, the kind of endless in your will makes me feel small.

Makes me feel.