I can't sleep in hotels.
The sound of closing doors
and talk of people leaving
shakes the air inside my room.
Rain furrows the glass.
I look through the window
to see families and their luggage
spooling back in their cars.
I shut my curtains
against the gloaming
and lay alone.
I spend the night staring
at the white washed walls.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem