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A weekly video reading of poetry by the poet.

BIRTHDAY IN BELGIUM
By Jonathan Cohen

I am locked up, and this old prison in the middle of town, by the
grande place, where fresh flowers are cut for sale—bunches of red,
violet, and gold—where St. George once cut a dragon to ribbons.

And the cell walls green with dank moss, and cold, like the clang of
an iron door. But keys begin to relax tumblers, bolts that surprise
me.

Enter the red crazy hair of a woman I knew when I was a boy. She
comes in with her crowd of painters, poets, musicians, all wearing
hats like ice-cream cones.

Multicolored flakes of confetti powder everywhere. It’s New Year’s
Eve, and this prison cell given to me as a kind of birthday present.

Then laughing, she suddenly says: “Let’s all go out and take the
train to Paris!”

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