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A white Thai elephant splashed with water
turns a dusty grey
The shutters of nine hundred shops
flapping open in Cairo’s souks
In Calcutta (he) thinks he’s a sacred cow –
crossing the road in front of cars and learning to low
On the Champs Elysse (he) sits in his garret
and tracks finches across balcony railings
and leaps off, thinking he can fly
Then, with guilt-clouds gathering
he runs off to hide behind
the metaphorical robes of some
long-dead hippy wordsmith
(albeit a kind one)
Navigating the pink stone cathedrals of Mexico
he remembers how her hand
is warm and small and slightly rough in his
and he knows all it’s knobs and textures
He can smell her now
clean, like rain
“Do I know you?” he asks
“Maybe” she answers
and that is when
he felt her throat vibrate against his lips
humming through his body
before he realized
they were her words…
The Traveller
©crisstiena
Silver trophy winner
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