Late September, Poland
Alisha Erin Hillam
I take a walk along the river bank—
like usual, I want to say. How quickly
we adapt to what is new and claim it.
Likewise, back at home, my children
argue, laugh, and argue. They are
finishing their schoolwork, they
are doing anything but finishing
their schoolwork. This has been
the first full week of nothing but
gray wet, and I have to wear all
of my clothes to leave the flat.
Tonight the bare-branched trees
along the water raise their limbs
to monastery bells, while raindrops
tap against my jacket’s hood.
A friar in black is talking softly
to himself, or praying. Possibly
he’s on the phone. I press my feet
against the dampened pavement,
pause to listen to the speechless
city. When the sun sends out thin
reaches of rose, then—one
by one—the streetlights flicker on.
A Pushcart-nominated writer, Alisha Erin Hillam’s work has appeared in various publications, including Passages North, Crab Orchard Review, Rust & Moth, and TAB. Originally from Indiana, United States, she now resides abroad with her family, where she spends her weekdays scribbling words and her weekends seeking adventures.
Contributor’s Note:
I wrote this poem to capture a moment I knew I wanted to keep hold of. I had left the United States for a year-long traveling adventure with my family several months earlier, and I still could not believe I got to take my cold and rainy gotta-get-the-rest-of-my-steps-before-the-day-ends walk alongside the Vistula. Back at home, I probably would have complained about the weather (and possibly have foregone the outing completely), but that evening I was viscerally struck by the still, autumnal loveliness of my time and place. For me, this is part of what makes travel so powerful. It pulls us out of ourselves and asks us to look at the experiences we're having with truer eyes. What a thing, to have the privilege and circumstance to walk in the rain. To have slightly disgruntled children. To watch leaves shed their green for yellow and red, and to experience the quiet shift of autumn. And to do all this in Poland! This isn't the first (or last) poem I wrote about our year of travel, but it's one that perhaps best captures the profound gratitude and awe I had for the experience in the exact moment I was experiencing it.
Editor’s Note:
Alisha Erin Hillam’s “Late September, Poland” captivates the mood of Fall with its delicate balance of the familiar and novel. I love how this poem captures that liminal space between settling into a new routine and marveling at its uniqueness. “How quickly / we adapt to what is new and claim it,” Hillam writes, inviting us to question our own adaptability. The poem’s strength lies in weaving together multiple threads — a simple walk becomes a meditation on presence, parenthood, and the privilege of travel. Hillam’s attention to sensory detail is remarkable, from the damp chill requiring “all / of my clothes” to the “thin / reaches of rose” as the sun sets. What elevates this piece is its underlying current of gratitude and wonder. In our era of curated travel experiences, Hillam’s poem reminds us of the true value of traveling: to help us see the world — and our place in it — with fresh, wonderful eyes.