scattered

a life scattered through the baltics, through the balkans,

a trail of lost things tracing the coast of south america.

there is an ill-fitting shoe in lithuania, its partner abject in my suitcase;

a grey scarf left in the grey airport in belarus, in the ravages of lost-and-found.

i embellish sometimes: was the debit card stolen

by the policeman interrogating me, in ulcinj? or was i just drunk,

and lost.

sometimes i do not, though. i think of my suitcase, in manchester,

the sirens, the memories, the fear.

i left a tiny shirt at the end of the world, looking out at antarctica,

or maybe mendoza, where i was too sick to think. i left

a sweater in bishkek, wandering the markets of the silk road.

i lost my phone in puno at 13,000 feet, on the shores of lake titicaca;

in a tattoo shop in belgrade; on the sidewalk in prague.

once, i got it back.

there is a paper trail of my life, scattered,

clothes and trinkets and necessities,

in the baltics, in the balkans,

ancient cities and the end of the world,

i wonder who found them, sometimes,

i wonder if they ever think of me.