Thursday Doors, 11/4/19: Ljubljana & Day 11: Where I’m from

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt will get you a tune, some truth in a poem and a collection of home-grown doors. And then I left, or arrived, as you look at it.

First a tune to get into the groove.

“We be reading Marx where I’m from”

Digable Planets

Challenge 11: “We’d like to challenge you to write a poem of origin. Where are you from? Not just geographically, but emotionally, physically, spiritually? … And having come from there, where are you now?”

Where I'm from

Where I’m from
 was the best place to become me
 but then I left.

 I never felt anything was lost
 by bringing me here.
 By driving myself, actually,
 for seven hours or so,
 all the way to Florence
 where my prince, nodding beside me,
 took over the wheel  
 and we got a little lost in Tuscany hills
 because who cares, right?
 If it doesn’t matter where you are,
 getting lost doesn’t exist.

 Where I’m from,  
 people rolled their eyes
 and sighed “It won’t last, you want to bet?”
 but not to my face,
 to my mother’s face, which is worse
 because I’d have said something back
 while she probably didn’t
 only her fear’s ears wiggled.

 Where I’m from,  
 I moved either to paradise on earth
 and the mention of Tuscany
 gets me a fierce piercing stare
 with eyes half closed  
 full of unexpressed
 accusation – “how dare you leave us, bitch?”
 regret – “oh, how I would too if I could”,
 envy – “why you of all people?”
 longing – “it’s my dream place!”  
 waiting for the invitation,

 or rational thoughts prevail:
 “You moved to God’s behind.
 There is nothing there.
 The only part of Italy without highway.
 You live in the middle of nowhere.”
 Yes, I and flamingos, dad.  
 We know what’s good for us.

So I arrived
 and didn’t return.
 It is as April now as it was then,
 six years ago this Sunday.
I didn’t wear socks till November.
 

---

And now to the doors because it’s Thursday. Here is a look at Ljubljana, the capital of Slovenia, my city of origin.

Down Čopova street.

Above I may say that I didn’t return but I mean for good. I do come on regular visits and the doors below are from two such visits, one last summer, the other last October.

• 

  “We are what we are.” A shopping window.

• 

  This door took me by surprise.

• 

  I remember seeing it so often but that was before my door days.

• 

  A musician.

• 

  Another shopping window.

• 

  A door from Čopova Street.

• 

  When I see a door like this at a restaurant – Slovenian House Figovec – I think somebody must have told them I was coming.

• 

  The door leads to this lovely garden which was closed in August but open in October.

• 

  Another restaurant above Tivoli Park: restored Švicarija house.

• 

  Lots of wood for wood lovers.

• 

  I suppose the other tables were outside.

• 

  Lots of detail.

• 

  From the outside.

• 

  It appears Švicarija is a creative centre as well.

• 

  A stroll from Tivoli to the centre yielded many doors.

• 

  Strong men holding it up since 1933.

• 

  An Alien-looking door keeper.

• 

  This one was far and I was too tired to approach.

• 

  Last light.

• 

  On the right: “We are emptying shelves.” The road home. Luckily, I can go home again whenever I wish.

For Norm Frampton’s Thursday Doors challenge.

and for Day 11 of NaPoWriMo