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Riff Raff + Marionettes by Cynthia Bonitz

Imagined us taking the midnight train, playing Russian parts, tasting of grain.
Through the winding mountains, under the winter looming,
I wanted to wear fox, with blue liner on my eyes, to stare at you dreaming.
I’d sketch our nights at the café, hum music, Edith Piaf with the smoke.
The whistle would sound, radiating, from London to Moscow,
to the emerald waters, parading with the writers, the rosé, the olives and the oil—
because fragrant were our minds and the poetry, the knolls and mysteries of the land,
which we’d make moon dances with, tying wildflowers in our hair with string.
We’d snicker with Tolstoy, stir wreckage like in Sedmikrásky, wave to the window.
The air of pearls would shake us with the feather light,
and somewhere between sleep and tomorrow, we’d dance the parade.

Cynthia Bonitz lives in Brooklyn and is currently working on a memoir about studying in Prague and traveling Europe.