Ruckkehrunruhe
I forgot
how the hot, sticky wind of
a hundred passing metro buses and jeepneys
felt on the shins–
the pleasant aching of feet
at the edge of a crosswalk–
when my legs were swept up
by the velvet lining
of a living room recliner.
I lost
the New Orleans roar–
the steam of a fresh jambalaya
and greasy oyster po’boys–
caught in the fibers of a shirt
when I stuck it in the washer
with a cup of
mountain fresh
And all the morsels of
the world I’ve captured in
a photograph
fade each time
I scroll past it in a
two-thousand memory
digital photo album
ruckkenrunruhe- n. the feeling of returning home after an immersive trip only to find it fading rapidly from your awareness
Monachopsis
The garden holds like
the surface of water
until the gate swings open
and I,
with the careful smack of
yellow flip flops against
stepping stones,
arrive in New Gethsemane
But the crabapple tree
whispers to the bitter gourd
the mustard greens
the cherry tomatoes
the chickweeds
and with a thin, spotted finger
points
I cannot be the ant
on the ochre fence
with them–
only a thoroughbred
among them
monachopsis- n. the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place
Katrin Flores, a student in the School for the Creative and Performing Arts program, is a junior at Lafayette High School. Besides writing, she is passionate about Jesus, hoards lipstick, plays the violin, and occasionally writes on gum wrappers when she’s desperate.
*poetry inspired by The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows*
www.dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com