I envy the stories

They tell.

Of the East

And the West.

Of bare feet,

Guava trees,

Roasted fava beans.

Of tin water pails

That held curly-haired children

To keep the dust off their feet.

Stories

Of bus rides in the scorching heat.

Trips to the mountains

And to the Black Sea.

Of waves that

Drowned fathers

Who knew to build houses,

But not how to swim.

Stories

Of chickens

That ran like

They weren’t all there.

Of thieves

That were not at all

There.

Of half-empty Coke bottles,

And cigarette boxes

In a child’s hand.

Between the fingers

Of a grown man.

Stories

Woven like

Grandfather’s carpets.

And tangled like the mosquito nets

Of the Amazon.

Of sour yogurt drinks

And the sour taste

Of a coin

In the mouth of a child.

Of flat roofs

That tempted the sleepless

At night.

Of men that were wolves,

And kept dreams alive.