Posts Tagged With: poem

The book of the prodigal son’s daughter


and even after we go to meet our maker there’s an alley separating us
apparently in two rows of angels and saints
some with their head towards sunrise
the others towards sunset

it’s snowing
i dream of a world with less tooth for a tooth and eye for an eye
a world with bread for a bread and flower for a flower
with that cup of water my father asked for before dying
my old man who drank only beer or vodka or synthetic juices
until it stroke him through his head and heart
dad
i did not come to your grave to thank you
the one who asked me for forgiveness five days before you passed away
the one who broke then in your fist that small porcelain doll
i was afraid off when i was a child
and you knew
i inherited your poverty but not your sins
do you remember when we used to play dice and canasta
we both had blind luck
and someone was shamelessly cheating

yesterday’s snow settled down over all graves
over all vows
in a land without prophets like any other land
only the wind breaks spells skimming father’s bible
that one with a mahogany leather cover
it does not matter in which direction lies your head dad
may your memory be forgiven

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

midsummer’s dream


my green fairy i’m not ophelia/ i will stay an old maid it’s useless to place lady’s bedstraw flowers under my pillow because whatever i would dream of…it won’t be him/ it won’t be my dear beloved country man/ my lord with entangled beard staring at the summer stars like a charmed beast…

what can i say?
the wheat is still tender i can feel its juicy inside between my teeth
women are still beautiful to me that mean i am still
younger than that barren apple tree
it was a golden apple forbidden to be tasted
it was guarded by an army of ruby cross spiders so scary
for a little girl like me

oh my dear hamlet these are only stories/ even you were dead a long time ago and i/ who am i to know what murky waters will bear my crown above them?

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

the prayer of the heart


i pick up the phone to talk for free on Sundays/ on the other end of the line there are no other words/ i skim through my phone numbers agenda/ people i forgot about because they did not want me/ my love for the farther and departed ones/ the biblical kin queuing at the same feast/ sharing and multiplying home bread and onions/ and the man paid to soak the sponge in vinegar

it’s a very quiet day it rains as if in empty honeycombs
people come back from the white church with low spires
sharing their umbrellas

i stick my fingertips to the soil from the pot with a green plant/ i disconnect myself/ i discharge my electricity/ i try to fix the soles of my feet on the floor/ to equilibrate my soul between the two lungs/ this is an exercise without mantras feng shui or ikebana

only a sunflower stays close to the wall like virgin mary in her prayers

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

modus vivendi


and now comes that moment when a hand
draws the curtains over the sunset
like it is customary
when the last page from a good novel locks
inside the gardener’s daughter head another garden
as big as all the other wonders of this worlds

my body rolls amid old pillows
I rotate within the squared dial of my room
I am content that I’m not weightless
that I have a living shape and my heels nailed to the floor
and I stretch myself
with one leg shorter than the other
like the mistress of the sun king and churchill and other figures
in a procrustian world in all its joints

there will be another day when the undertakers will take
from my bed sheet a drop of saint imprint alike christ’s

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

Between today and tomorrow


the motherless child has pointed ears as if a hare and he runs
on the witchgrass and chicory field within the rifle’s range
the child
draws his blanket every evening up under his chin
the blanket with holes like stars
he covers the cold in his body
a cold so frail and shameful
he keeps silent when others talk he murmurs hail mary
when others believe that he’s cursing
until there comes the rain until valleys get deeper where streamlets run
him the one who lives hiding behind a woman’s icon
he steals the wild blackberries from the graveyard of the innocents

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