Published on Academy of American Poets (https://poets.org)


Hotel Berlin

In the rooms of a rundown palace
You said, Ruined. You said, Princess.

You said nothing to me
For three long weeks.

The color of that room
Is eel-black.

When I was a girl and still
German, I stood alone

At the end of the sea.
You may have loved me then

I sent a message through the cages
Of a great whale’s teeth.

For three weeks, I did not sleep.
I set jars of sweet milk and baskets

Of bright berries and red
Marmalade outside your door

In the dream
Where you come to me

I kiss your mouth
Tasting the secret

Letters of your history.
I swear

Somewhere in Siberia
A godly ocean of bison

Still roam free.
You, kneeling before me,

In this,
The last and final room.

Credit


Copyright © 2013 by Cynthia Cruz. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on July 19, 2013. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.

About this Poem



"This poem is 'about' that small chance that leads two people to meet, that small miracle. I was thinking about my husband and how deeply my life is informed by him and then, the small chance that led us to meet, the distance between our childhoods, where we grew up (me, in California and Germany; he in the Mid West and Greece)."
—Cynthia Cruz

Author


Cynthia Cruz

Cynthia Cruz is the author of How the End Begins (Four Way Books, 2016) and Wunderkammer (Four Way Books, 2014).

Date Published: 2013-07-19

Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/hotel-berlin