Posts Tagged With: funeral

By Themselves

if people are trees then they are most likely to be pear trees
their fruit is at the height of the noon sun with sweet juice
they too fall by themselves
grubby or not with small and soft seeds because man breaks himself
dropping down on the ground with smoothened teeth and bones
he melts like honeycomb

at my grandma’s funeral
she looked as if she lost her wrinkles in the coffin
her forehead smiled to the winter sun like water from an ice hole
when we got back from the cemetery we didn’t recognize
her old and black umbrella standing in the corner of the bedroom
everyone wondered  why it was there

from one hand to another we shared the wheat porridge
and the clothes and the memories gathering new meanings
it was colder
maybe a small painted angel cried in the icon above the stove

one morning I saw a rainbow
it lasted all along the road until the sky was untied from the earth

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

I promise to stop crying from tomorrow

a woman at the corridor’s corner at the end without windows
young like the bird without nest and old like the homeless spider
stares at me with eyes like curdled milk engulfing a drop of blue ink

she breathes as if swimming for hours only in the same circle
her fingers tremble on her long Virgin neck
of a ballerina at the show’s end
her head falls aside like a too heavy bud on its stem

obviously she cried more than me
the amount necessary for tears to leave her at God’s will

just looking at her I feel like cutting off a reed on a dry lake’s shore
I pull out my handkerchief together with the candle
effacing my last drop
of salted happiness

Note: at funerals in my country it is customary to give away handkerchiefs attached to thin and long candles. They can be lit during the funeral mass by the attendants.

Categories: My poems in 2013 | Tags: , , | 2 Comments

The Wagon with Planks

the horse drawn wagon with a wooden heart
climbs slowly without border planks
the old man drives his horse at the walk
as if he were counting in his mind

each tree has a heart
young ones answer with a faint voice
the poll of the axe strikes to test them
sometimes a stronger echo from the other trees
it’s a sign the axe will strike deeper
right in the heart with scarce sap
and all wood poles will go down tied to the wagon
as long as dew shines in the fields

now there’s only one road left
slowly in the wagon with its planks raised up
the old man lies tied at his ankles
behind the wagon small spiders are jumping
tired of all that sunlight and dust
searching for shadows under planks
and red carnations will fall from children’s arms
as long as tears are in the eyes

from time to time the others’ echo
is answering stronger
like a single heart in a forest

Categories: My Poems in 2012 | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

Over Stones

everything was about to break
only the wind knew their story
whitewash crumbs on fences
walnut leaves at the door sill
a shirt thrown on a scarecrow
hollow gutters sprinkling rain

the truth is far more simple
like salt grains on bread
on a hot day they gave bread rings and porridge
usually the road was dusty
but that day heavy whirls of dust
hit the garden’s gate
where she used to gather beans
with her hardened hands
dust balls rolled in the verandah
where a young lass was spinning wool
lads calling for a ring dance
snowy dust weighed
over dahlias and sweet basil
near the church where they baptized her

evening is cold stars are craggy
moonlight strikes like a knife
on the empty cellar lock
near the porch a dull scythe sways
a pitcher hangs in its rotten wattle
while the old man sweeps slower and slower
over the same stones

Categories: My Poems in 2010 | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment


when father was dead
in his large enough coffin
a pale blue ribbon tied his temples
otherwise he seemed asleep
the sky was clear but I did not look upwards
I searched in his black wallet
found an icon a few notes and figures
about building a road

father was a man of numbers and calculated windings
usually I refused to play chess with him
he said that it was his dream
I was locking myself in my room without keys
he was setting the chess table
always giving me the white pieces and many advantages
teaching me that corner towers can attack altogether
and that a good defense means to push forward
I was not listening everything was in vain
dice were funnier somehow
they seemed to roll easily beside my will

those days I believed that life was very serious
a kind of order where chess was a surfeit
boring tiresome futile effort for leisure time
I just liked that sound of pieces popping each other
when I gathered them at the end of the game
white bishops had a black head
black bishops had a white point

it was a hot day
silence melting words
my eyes wide opened looking through a lens
so cloudy so clear
father smiling in his coffin
his front clasped by a blue ribbon


Categories: My Poems in 2011 | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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