Antwerp scene

​We had black coffee, two streets away from
Onze-Lieve-Vrouwekathedraal, that much
is true, but not entirely. We spoke of Las Meninas
 
when we saw that hurried, sweaty man
with a bunch of flowers of a size so entirely
apologetic we both laughed, and across from us
 
those two old ladies, drinking what could have been
that morning’s third glass of wine, one of them glancing
over her shoulder and expressing at the sight,
 
something half way between encouragement and
a deeply felt optimism, although this might not be true,
as they spoke Flemish and we did not. I thought
 
that this little scene could make for a great poem,
a poem about Las Meninas or Lot’s wife, looking,
a December morning when it felt like something
 
was thickening, something poetic but not entirely,
something long and thin, like a slightly opened door,
like a pillar of salt, like the flames of a burning city,  
but not entirely...

Published in Structo - Issue 17 - Spring 2017