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I hoped to find

some memories

in these

cobbled streets;

lying bedraggled

in the gutter

perhaps,

or sitting quietly on

some windowsill

waiting.

I half expected

to absorb childhood

through my feet

or to feel it trickle

into my ears

along with the

language spoken here,

along with the

city's sounds

and scents;

but

no

jolt

woke

me.

No sudden image

broke the surface-

came crashing through

the flat glass wall-

to break up

and disperse

the blankness

settled

over those years-

a fire blanket

killing

any

living

flame;

a knife blade

cutting life

into two

distinct pieces-

a slice removed

cleanly from

a loaf-

so the child

was

cut

from

me.

© Sophia Argyris