You go home with a stranger, Michele from Milan.
Using the moonlight from his ceiling window,
He traces a bruise on your hip bone,
Which glows like a flounder on the ocean floor.
In the morning, before you climb Arthur’s Seat,
He makes you an espresso
And points out the merging sea and sky;
The same gale grey.
Why did you come here alone, in the dead of winter—
Only to end up surrounded by a stranger’s cold china?
On top of Arthur’s Seat,
You barely balance against the wind.
About the author
Stephanie Papa is a writer, editor and teacher currently working towards an MFA in Poetry in Paris, France. Spontaneous travel keeps her curious. Her…Read the full bio
Issue 22 · April 2015
Table of contents
- From the editors
- Next to the River
- Four poems by Christine Potter
- Two poems by Rimas Uzgiris
- Another Art
- Two poems by Bonnie Bishop
- 1955-D and 1945-S
- Outside Ngaoundere
- Three poems by R L Swihart
- Two poems by Eugenia Hepworth Petty
- City Lights, Dirty Window
- Freedom Fries
- Five poems from Shoshauna Shy
- Edinburgh, Alone
- The Road to Managua
- Postcard Prose
- Travel Notes