Jake's Flea Market

my father could afford to pay the fare

the horizon ahead was a curtain closed

behind the curtain   in the next day lay
wittenberg and that winter two winters before

the carriage that brought me from 
summer   and a place where 
there was nothing for me to do   there was

a draft that entered those long days
in from around the windows
in from around the doors
in from where the walls joined   
walls joined the top     joined the floor that draft entered
in through the spaces between the threads of my blouse
between the threads of my trousers

that entire life through i shivered

i wanted a blanket     a hooded robe

i asked that the carriage be stopped
stopped at a roadside inn or at a tavern

that wind     that draft that entered
in   it would have diminished

i could have warmed   stepped out   eaten 

but the driver whipped
the sweat on those horses   even more
and the turn of those carriage wheels never stopped
‘til the carriage skidded no     sledded into wittenberg

wittenberg grounded in snow

the clothes i wore
that i’d outgrown in the summer left behind i   i shrank

i had to employ a hand to hold
my trousers up from down in the snow around my ankles

i was so hungry

and wittenberg was just another carriage 
worse than the first

but there was philosophy to distract
from the misery and there were books to read

and my father could afford to pay the fare