A new poem by Kasper Hartman

Traveller

We lived in a house near a hostel – sometimes when it was full,
travellers camped on our lawn. One night it was raining,
and the tent of a girl (going to Winnipeg)
was ripped

and leaking. My parents invited her in; they drank borscht,
and talked about the sun. Finally
she undressed,
while I

watched from the kitchen; that night I dreamt of her,
sneaking across the floor, to open
the door for her boyfriend,  
her brothers.