The first time I traveled to Poland I was 11 years old. It was about a year and a half after communism had fallen and my aunt, who my mother had not seen in fifteen years, was getting married. My brothers and I were taught no Polish growing up, but by the time we landed in Warsaw we could each repeat a token phrase. Mine was to be delivered to my 92-year-old blue-eyed great-grandmother: “My mother says I have your eyes.” More useful would have been: “Please don’t let us die.” The trip nearly killed all of us in different ways.
Cloud, castle, creek
by Dave Karczynski - Sunday, Sep 15th, 2024