Joyce Ryckman

34^R Ripperdastraat

Today, as clouds moved to the sound of geese

and your footprints stepped slowly across the sea-dunes,

you remembered 34^R Ripperdastraat.

When a cast-iron bull head guarded the door.

When the staircase rose narrow stair to narrow stair

into a sun-warmed room in the upstairs flat.

When at supper your father hummed Bolero

and your twin sisters shifted in unison to his beat.

Your memories quickened toward the North Sea,

a current splitting water into water.

Everything was water.

Then you dipped your fingers into the waves,

and said

I’m touching home.

Joyce Ryckman