Conflict Tourism
Belfast, NI
People here think my accent
is charming because America
is young. Today at the Friday bakery
filled with old ladies I asked about
raisin buns piled in the glass case,
and the woman behind the counter
volunteered that she had family
in Philadelphia. I don’t understand
the kinds of bread here—there are
so many. Bread always feels elemental,
and moving is a time-honored way
to improve one’s condition. Bap. Farl.
Wheaten. Soda. Barmbrack. People migrate.
I have moved here, as long as they’re willing
to maintain me, but I am an empty Beaux-Arts
palace. Here, all of the restaurants place
long white taper candles on every table.
Even for breakfast, they are lit.
In silver holders. In candelabras.
Here, the streets are always wet,
though I never see it rain. The darkness
is pervasive. At home there is snow.
At home the bones of a dog rest
on a fire escape, and everywhere sirens
have a long history of catastrophe. It is
our job to see only the person in front of us—
not the stereotype—but I am American,
and many here feel America should be
taken apart with a screwdriver. Maybe
it already has been. I’ve been gone that long.
I no longer wear my youth like buzzing electrons.
A map is permission to get lost, but here
the neighborhoods are well-marked
by their inhabitants: people who don’t
take no for an answer. It isn’t safe there.
It isn’t safe here. The graffiti says I’ll put
a bullet in your head. Says fuck the world. But
I have to wake up at a reasonable hour
to take my son to swim lessons.
Most art grows out of normality.
How do they identify the enemy here
when everyone looks the same? Names.
Accents. Boundary lines. We preserve
the past by taming it so there are stories,
and always more stories.
***
Erika Meitner is the author of four books of poems, including Copia (BOA Editions, 2014), and Ideal Cities (HarperCollins, 2010).
12 responses
Very powerful
The description, its deep.
Wounderful and best forever for you
beautiful and applies to many parts of the world in these days
Safety first is a main concern for all, trust is not a given it must be earned. Everyone needs to trust to a certain extent. As we navigate through society do you hesitate to enter a building or crowd? The trust factor is different in us all. Safety and security is the back bone of America and should be honored,respected and not taken as folly or not important.
Holy shit. This poem is wonderful. O.o I need to get on writing some poems about living abroad…
Great story!
I love the part about the graffiti telling you to fuck the world, but you have to get out bed at a reasonable time.
It makes me think of the rebelous things we all did in our youth, think about where I am now and smile about my current position, yet missing the non caring youngster I was then.
Not that old (not even 30), but life gets a little more serious 😉
Take care and happy Monday!
Warm regards,
Tieme
A good Read…
This is splendid.I love it.It reminds me of the rebellious things we used to do in our youth
Very strong and something a lot of people can relate to in some way.
Wow that’s, well that’s something
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