Posts Tagged With: childhood

song for the bewitched pumpkin

it was a beautiful story about little girls big as acorns reading other stories
sitting upon bewitched little mushrooms
with hot milk with honey inside amber cups before bedtime

I sat with my ear on forest soil
searching for the tree of trees
the giant from the fairy tale
his words stilled the whole breathing
didn’t you know that trees speak louder than the wind?

stay calm hard-boiled apple sun of a bastard goldfinch mouthwatering gingerbread
today I need to draw a rainbow like a hammock for all the dreaming in the world
like children do before ever seeing one
I miss the forbidden fortress that grows for centuries within ourselves
I cried and I believe that my teardrop is the stem of sunrise
let it be for offerings and sinlessness

Categories: My poems in 2016 | Tags: , , , , , | 1 Comment


let it be a white and round little house as if carved in a big pumpkin
so there is room enough for both grandpa and grandma
and for all my memories
the Naumann sewing machine the cuckoo clock in the front room
the handkerchiefs perfectly folded twice the candles spreading light
over the old photos hanging in frames on the walls
let me sleep like a baby hare between big down pillows with my feet
touching the warm terracotta stove tiles
let the bread dough in the trough raise by itself until the crust breaks
grandma makes the sign of cross over it and cuts it in seven
pours a drop of consecrated water over it
from that green pitcher with a thread of basil
to bring God too at our diner table
grandpa lights a terrible fire that makes you feel your knees mellow
he places the teakettle with wine on the stove for it is mid winter
and even the child could taste a mouthful
grandma sprinkles cinnamon from a small sachet hidden in the cupboard
she puts on her sheepskin vest with oblong buttons
and fetches another bucket of water from the well
while I sort out good white beans for our soup

Categories: My poems in 2016, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , | Leave a comment

Don’t Bend Over the Train Window

I bid farewell to childhood with my soul and my face crumpling
like Jacques Brel singing his music/ I wrote letters and poems without destination
where the sun smiled from my old deflated plastic ball

the child blew warm air over the train’s window to draw it with a finger
and then the ball disappeared
and the child breathed over and over again
like a mouth-to-mouth resuscitation until he could see the sea with its big sun above
and he showed it to everyone as if it were a wonder

he stood upright with his hands shading his eyes
on the beach where the sand slipped away quicker and quicker
how beautiful are footprints in the soft sand/ how thin they are
said the child/ I shall build a castle
for a small fairy I shall place my yellow panther to guard the gate
here is a road towards the castle/ and here is a bridge
from an empty matchbox/ I shall build more bridges
with white seashells around and I shall place horses on bridges
seahorses with their manes waving in the wind

my head whizzed from pain/ the howl of the sea was stronger/
my temple bone was a seashell and that trail of footprints climbed to the skies

Categories: My Poems in 2015, Uncategorized | Tags: , | Leave a comment

Wet dog’s nostalgia

Damned be that plastic uniform when I was in the 7th grade or so it stuck to my knees I pulled it down with my left hand but it was still too short and my heels in round tips stogies drew outwards why couldn’t I understand that life is like a frugal meal made of maize porridge soaked in hot milk poured in aluminum bowls using the same spoons with holes on their handles given to us by the old priest’s wife why couldn’t I see beyond the glossy covers of my books their inside core yellow-lit by the 40 watt light bulb trembling over the black rafters

Fairy tales smelled so good like fresh print I filled my pockets with shepherd’s purse small hearts I scattered them to grow elsewhere there was something of my own I dreamed of keeping the sun in my hands and the rain in my eyes to let them fall over the ground to let my hair grow long down to my waist but my mother opposed I wanted to play the mandolin like a fair-haired princess but I was brunette and my music teacher did not accept me in the children’s chorus

Why didn’t I learn to cry out to dry my tears in a slow train’s smoking compartment amid old cigarette stubs with my eyelashes painted blue because of shame that I did not understand in good time why was I doomed to see so many dogs run over by wheels on the highway in order to finally understand how some old beggar dies in the rain his hand clutching a bag with strawberries received as charity

Categories: My Poems in 2015 | Tags: , | 2 Comments

returning home

beyond the trees surrounding the house it was more light
but for me the sun in my grandma’s eyes was enough
I cut with the knife the top of the boiled egg
spinning together round that golden core
with the silver teaspoon from my father’s baptism

there were too few butterflies
for the many flowers grandma brought on the table
some of them embroidered on handkerchiefs
others on my hats
placed there with her hands soft as apricot jam
smelling like naphthalene and purple lilac
picked when the rain stopped
in the color of fairy tale books drawings

more and more pigeons flew over our heads
from the attic with windows without windowpanes
there fell shadow over shadow from imprisoned wings
from love growing
like a quarrel between seasons

as I got closer to her shoulders
taller than the mailbox from the front gate
higher than the lime tree sapling in the street
little by little I was leaving towards a stranger place
to capture the sunset in the small basket lined with tinfoil
where grandma left a few dry cakes
sprinkled with sugar

Categories: My Poems in 2014 | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

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