Recap: I’m currently traversing Finland, Sweden and Estonia, writing a poem a day. Blog posts will come after my return.
Writing from: somewhere on the Baltic, between Sweden and Estonia.
Poems written from: the arctic circle; Kemi, Finland; en route to Sweden; Stockholm, Sweden; Charlottenberg, Sweden and on the train back to Stockholm.
Her hair is the copper of pennies
his head is shaved.
Coins drop and shiver against the old wood.
The hotel has no reception
just a bar.
the sort that makes her look like a bloodstained Freja
the sort that makes him nervous.
Eighty two euros, he says. And it comes with breakfast.
Three soft folded prisms is all she has.
I don’t have enough, she says.
She opens the door, moonsilver drenches her.
The door closes, he picks up the coins.
If only ribcages didn’t exist, she could keep
warm. She wishes she could crawl inside
nestle against his lungs.
The bus doesn’t leave till morning, but she has no key
She lies down under the trees, with the beer cans and dead leaves
while he polishes his coins, wondering if they’re keys.
Stockholm is it’s own kind of hell:
MCDONALDS hunts down four year olds
feeds them bitter apples
brands their bellies with the molten arches.
Sacred are the pancakes
I will never eat
the alpine strawberry yogurt I did eat that only cost 6.90 kronar
and perfect circles of moss.
I have nothing to say other than chocolate tastes really good in the rain and that
Sweden has its own thunderbirds
the color of crushed pigeons and frost.