a sprig of mint cut in three and some ginger sliced in my sand-porcelain cup to ease the youch

five days in the ancient city
void of internet
(yes, that ancient)
walking winding streets
with pictographs where
an alphabet, or even characters
do not suffice
seeking a restaurant of refuge
or a moment away from the canal
where you wash your clothes
dump your sewage
and generally swim for funsies.

five days in the ancient city
days 6-11 of my cold
and 10 hours overnight on the
second floor of the train
to bring me home.

as the stress falls from my shoulders
i’m hoping the oppressive weight
of the mucus in my throat begins to ease
and as i walk roads paved with
black-top instead of hand-carved stone
i thank the Lord for civilization,
good food, 3g, and overwhelming sunshine

and a bed i call my own
naps i call my own
and hot water
i foolishly call my own.

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