In May in Poland, the first day
of sun, we realized
the grass was green.
All of Kraków was on the
Wisła with kites: confetti
strewn across the sky.
The Planty bloomed, the cafes
rang with laughter; the Sukiennice
looked less soot-stained without snow,
the smudges becoming dignified
weights of history. I ate my obwarzanki
and pierogi, read Miśkiewicz and
Szymborska, and tried not to look
Poem by Annie Jadin, speakingvoiceless.wordpress.com.