Bulgaria Remembered

I saw your desperate hand, waving, 
even as I boarded the wings of escape.
And I always will remember
sopska salad, guiros,
the lady slipping her hand into my purse. 

How furtive glances gave away
your grass-like envy
of an unknown truth —
as blue as the Black Sea,
cheap as Czechoslovakian crystal. 

How in your muddled anarchy
leva’s value cannot buy life,
nature’s cradle cannot comfort. 

And I awaken in whiplash time,
tomorrow and today,
while you dream in sweaty sleep of
golden streets, golden arches.