Here they dance with arms raised above their heads
while their legs sink deep in the dusty earth, describing
the arc of some forgotten journey. The middle
of the body suspended like a question.
I’ve been up all night drinking ouzo, my plane
leaves in an hour, the dust of rebetika pulses
in my veins. I have an exquisite headache. I’m in love
with this city of dusty streets and ancient churches.
For now, it is I on this empty road, the car radio
my only cohort. Metallic strains of bouzouki seep
through the air like the thick smoke of a Gauloise.
Even the sardine fishermen sleep.
The heat has begun to settle like a blanket.
When the sun comes up, I’ll be gone.
Three thousand ancestors ask how I straddle
the sea, a foot on either shore.
I peer through the windshield at Orion’s belt,
in search of home. The three sisters
are the stars that shine in the middle. I race
in the dark, speaking in tongues.
About the author
Anastasia Vassos began writing poetry around the age of nine. One of her first poems was a tribute written in Greek to her father,…Read the full bio
Issue 23 · November 2015
Table of contents
- From the editors
- Two Poems by F. J. Williams
- Imaginary Oceans
- Thessaloniki, Four AM
- Koinonia Farms
- Night Flight
- Two Poems by Sarah J. Sloat
- The Lounge Lizard
- Fear in Kenya
- Cretan Love Letter
- Two Poems by David Havird
- Yukon River Aurora
- Night Becomes Day Over the West
- Vignette, Townhouse, 9 a.m.
- Two poems by Anne Babson
- Postcard Prose
- Travel Notes