Yassou (To Your Health): Poems on and in Greece
Athens
I love the shapes your alphabet makes.
Parakalo, iced coffee.
Sygnomi, we both smiled behind our masks.
One September day at time.
Has it ever been more clear?
I wake up some days
Unsure what I’m doing here.
But then I smell your streets…
Where the trees make arches over sidewalks on purpose.
Where people of all ages walk miles uphill on the thinnest of sandals.
Where the gods once dwelled
And the myths were made.
Where asking questions became philosophy.
Where the mosquitos on my balcony have loved me more
Than I ever could myself.
It’s Buddhist philosophy by day,
Before Sunset by night,
With concern and contemplation in between.
But is there anything else?
In the city of stories
Where gods and mortals once fell in love.
Glyfada
I like how people trust each other on the beach,
leaving their belongings under an umbrella in the sand
as they wade toward the depths of the sea,
eyes only on the horizon,
with their backs physically turned away from the shore.
As if everything we ever need
is already provided by nature itself,
far from the human made constraints of
money, telephones, and keys.
We wade into one giant salt bath of peaceful, living creatures
with the heaviness of our pockets’ contents
waiting for us on land
when the stillness is done.
Klima
May the sea be your playlist of the deepest music
anyone has ever known.
Like a fisherman at sunset,
may you experience the world
like it was created for your nourishment,
equally as much as your playground.
Mandrakia
The sea will hypnotize you,
but let it.
The dead octopi are drying in the sun
as if to say,
“I’m not alive, but you are.”
The white of the walls, table legs, and pebbles beneath my feet
slightly burn my retinas
again to say,
“I’m not alive, but you are.”
I want to be as clear as water,
as pure as the painted concrete walls,
and as unassuming as the rocks jutting out
from the earth,
remains of past volcanic eruptions.
If disaster can cause such beauty.
what else is left to be known?
Plaka (1)
I think I’d like to come back
as a chicken on a Greek island.
Looking out at the sea,
and spending days in the sun.
Dying while knowing
I was a nice meal for someone.
Plaka (2)
I want to be a statue here.
I’d even take Venus.
Though armless,
all she needs are her eyes.
Pera Triovasalos
The no smoking sign is just a suggestion.
I too hope to drive a motorcycle when I’m 75,
like you.
Your slow walk and belted up trousers
remind me of my grandfather.
I wish he was here,
splitting this beer with me today.
Mom, I’d make sure he drinks his orange juice too.
Neither of us would be low on blood sugar,
or low on anything for that matter.
Thessaloniki
Something about the sound
of playing backgammon in the afternoon.
About hand rolled cigarettes,
Macedonia,
and half broken Byzantine arches
that you can still pass through.
Something about a mermaid,
who was once Alexander the Great’s sister,
who this city is named for,
and who loved him.
Something about Jewish flourishing
turned to dust.
About Aristotle, wisdom, divine friendship, and the warm gulf.
History on history on history.
Something about the impermanence
and sacredness
of it all.
Mount Olympus
Maybe once upon a time
we mistook clouds for gods.
The jagged edges of your peaks
and the forest green of your valleys
demanded an explanation.
Everything started here.
