Jana Prikryl

The summer I was twelve I don’t remember
Thirteen we drive the Continent, hit Chamonix
The summer I’m fourteen go back alone to Čechy
and miss a connection and send her
weeping through the night, I just couldn’t work the door
Summer jobs the summer I’m fifteen and up and down
the back roads on our bikes with Trisha Brown
Sixteen a family that knows how to live in Strasbourg
remodels my French, a month sans meaningful exchange
The summer I am seventeen Eurailing hostel to hostel
with Magda called

We browsed and as usual that one I hadn’t read.
At showtime we lay down between the stacks
where we could only listen to the actors. Our faces close,
my hands tucked under my chin and legs drawn up
like an animal’s. I felt such tenderness for you and knew
it wasn’t returned—this as usual I couldn’t understand.