When we found you on a muddied road
in the Tatras, you were walking
in the steady rain up a steep hill
already halfway up and hunched
without cane or umbrella, or English,
a plastic bag clenched in your fist.
In our rented Mercedes I was just
a lost tourist with stupid power
windows greeting your crinkled, sunken
eyes first, your babushka tidy as a new
hairdo, your skirt faded but smooth.
I did not believe that you could be
who we were seeking until, invited in
for tea, you pulled me alone up to your attic,
dug through threadbare boxes for a single
picture you knew you owned: my family
fifteen years ago, Christmas in a southern state
and palm trees waving beyond the adorned tree.
Katie Kalisz is a Professor in the English Department at Grand Rapids Community College, where she teaches composition and creative writing. She is the author of Quiet Woman, a finalist for the 2018 Main Street Rag Poetry Book Award and Flu Season (Cornerstone Press, 2025). She is the recipient of a 2023 Elizabeth George Foundation Grant, and her poems have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. She lives in Michigan with her husband and their three children.