This is the silent music of the road:
uneven cobblestones and the long journey
with an accordion strapped to my back.
The black bellows open and inch down
like some thick Balkan caterpillar. Fat slug
up and down, how the black bellows open when it moves. - Natalie Price, age 14
of Eastern Europe. Not me—I keep walking.
“The where,” you might ask. “For what?”
I don’t know the answers. I’m only amused
that you would notice me at all. You,
with your world as tangible as fog.
*This poem was previously published in the poetry chapbook Ten Songs from Bulgaria (Cervena Barva Press, 2008)