Somber Civilization by Frank LeeI was supposed to be comin home for thanksgiving,
but,
needed to stop at happy hour downtown first.
i was foolish to think i could have just a drink
and make it home in time.
woke up on a train to jersey, had to get off,
sleep it off,
catch the next train to philly,
then spend the day with the family that
i had not seen in at least 7 months.
seemed like an overnight flight,
but, was more like seven months
in the czech republic.
i had this dream that
i thought was reality
but couldn't quite comprehend.
it was a Silhouette;
i swore i was only breathing,
but smoke it seemed to gather.
and i had a flashback of a conversation
over a beer that only cost a nickel
with a woman who seemed to resent
the fact that i was from america and couldn't speak czech.
such a somber civilization,
with a somber landscape,
in a somber economic time,
with a somber solution.
but for a few minutes,
time, language, common sense...
it all stood still, and
it didn't matter that
i didn't speak the language,
because she knew i wasn't trying,
and the next round i was buying.
felt like a millenium away as i sat at
a familiar barstool,
with my childhood friend,
laughing about the night before,
where i slept at the train station.
if he only knew how
life it stood still
in different civilizations.
it was a different space
a different time,
and i was in a different place
with a different frame of mind.
there is something somber
about the morning
in prague,
i've never been too good with photographs,
or oil,
but i have this perfect picture.
if it were just a dream,
and this,
this mess at home is reality,
then i clearly lost my mind.
but just this time,
i might have it in me
to find
a cure.
something more,
something pure,
the conversation over turkey,
the lucid, red, california wine,
the genuine happiness of a family dinner,
the seven months in a somber civilization
seem so distant
as i sleep in the bed i grew up in.
and as i try to pick up the pieces,
find a new home,
i can't stop dreaming,
and can't start caring.
12/09/2009 Posted on 12/10/2009 Copyright © 2025 Frank Lee
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