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Somber Civilization

by Frank Lee

I 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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