I remember thinking how your heart
was getting tangled with Czech and how
vines overtake a wall.

I remember the frustrated locals
reproved in broken English:
“We must not anger. We must make love.”

And how your heart—bruised but adored—
made so much love in those months:
love and love and love and love.

For more poems and stories, go to jackieleasommers.com/writer.

Image credit: Erica Murriel Davis