Walking the streets of Stockholm’s old town we only notice tourists. These last day of spring they flock around the souvenir shops, snap selfies or pull their roller-bags on cobblestones. I remember how empty the streets may be in November, when the street glisten in the rain, and our hurried footsteps echo between medieval walls.
In November it’s easy to imagine the days after the Danish King had the nobility of Sweden executed. When (it’s said) the streets were wet from their blood, I can almost sense the reek of sewer spilled and mixing with the blood. I imagine I can hear sound of the undertaker’s cart. I taste the terror of the tyrant in the raindrops on my lips when suddenly three Russian ladies exit from a souvenir shop.
In May we only see the tourists and later I buy a pair of jeans at the department store.
yellow with pollen
sluggish water lick the docks —
pigeons seeking crumbs
Today Frank Tassone hosts dVerse Haibun and we are to write about memorial. Memorial day is not celebrated in Sweden, and any memory of veterans or war lie far back in our memories, but there are always things you can remember. Join us with your own haibun.
May 27, 2019