Emily Wilson

Postcard I almost send to an almost lover

Krakow, Poland

I try to write about Schindler’s

factory, the portraits of people

saved, the wall of faces gray

and grave, but I don’t.

I know I have nothing

to say that their gaze

does not already convey.

I try to write about Poland’s

dragon, the subtle slut

shame of talon and flame.

Try to be glib, to write

He only eats beautiful

virgins, so don’t worry

about me! Instead, I

think of how, in Czech,

“to paint” and “to love”

are only one vowel

away: malovat; milovat.

The salutation alone

is written. I paint

you, I paint you, I paint you.

Emily Wilson is currently pursuing an MFA in poetry at the University of North Carolina Wilmington as a graduate teaching assistant. Her poetry, translations, and essays have appeared or are forthcoming in Asymptote, Bustle, Green Mountains Review, [pank], Passages…

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