Trieste

I put on my red dress, birthday dress, bird

dress, the one with the pockets in which I feel

like a princess. I slipped on my gold sandals,

flat sandals, bad for walking sandals, the ones

that I bought from Target a second ago and that

are already tearing apart. And I walked.

Through the wind that shook my curls nearly free

of the bobby pins, along streets cobbled and smeared

with dog poop, next to a Canal and into the plaza

of gold-flecked buildings, I walked. I sat and drank

a coffee served by a man who spoke Italian

to me, English to my father. I leaned my head back

and let the wind caress me. I felt like a queen,

returned from exile, examining her queendom,

for the first time in months thinking — life is good.

Poem by Karis Rogerson September 3, 2019