travels to the east

we exited via the underground lake or was it a cistern or was it a homing ground for lost birds, the wind picked up and we sought shelter, but we were only four now instead of five, and panic set in, three mute dolls lined up, blocking our path, was it sunday already, perhaps we could still return, throwing ice on the freshly mowed lawn, we slid down, now in ecstasy, but at the back of my mind still aching, we arrived at the station, it was a carnival atmosphere, gentlemen in top hats and tails greeted us in turn, did they know, could they help, the tents shaped like onion domes, that insanely strong desire, to find your lost child, and then, you see him, in his three-year-old self holding forth on the subject of relativity, rejecting, gravitational force.

Susan Stiles is a writer whose work often explores the landscapes of memory and belonging. Her poetry has appeared in eratio, Trampoline, The Lake, Panorama, Slant, The Westchester Review, and elsewhere. She is a recipient of a 2026 La Baldi Residency and is also active as a reader for Panorama. She lives on the Croatian island of Rab. More info at susan-stiles.com.

A Song for Susan