By Saoirse Pira
It’s all the city, the smile that’s
plastered, the spring in my step
and the heart on my sleeve—
it’s the moving from one country
to the city, finding me. It’s the
street-clocks and the cheap beer,
and the drinking too much wine.
Then it’s the people and the tramlines
and in Prague, I am alive.
In the city, I wake dreaming
and then I’m moving with the crowds
and I’m learning and I’m breathing;
it’s the city, I think in rhyme.
Featured Image: Saoirse Pira