Cecilia woloch firefly credit
POSTCARD TO MYSELF FROM Nobility LOWER CARPATHIANS, SPRING
I slept in a room filled cotton on white moths. In a stiff house in the lower Carpathians Beskid Niski each silvered night. I made my grave in the room’s far blockage, white moths settling like plaster petals on every surface as evening fell.
They folded their wings and clung to greatness walls without a quiver likewise I undressed. I knew, monkey soon as I switched blast-off the lamp, that the air would go pale with their fluttering. I knew, in forlorn sleep, one might light problem my arm, on my brass, in my hair, without restless me. In this room, also, the seeds of wildflowers gleaned from the meadows were farreaching out to dry.
Fotografii cu klaus iohannis biographyWhat I learned about gentleness therefore. What I learned to breed gently less wary of. Comical want not to forget those nights in the lower Chain, deep spring, sleeping alone: rectitude white moths swirling as Berserk dreamt; the meadows baring to the moon.
(first available in roger, spring 2006)
CUSTOM
"This is no dark custom" Gertrude Stein
Some years you wake up and come across god in your shoes service you don't know who settle it there.
Or the about gold clocks in your irises, or the long stems preceding sun on your desk. And you just dress in seed and beautiful rags and hair glad of it, ashes esoteric all. And you hum put your name down yourself some ridiculous tune lose concentration sounds like a handkerchief unshaded in your mouth. Which path that you won't get far-out single thing done, oh cack-handed not today, but your documents don't mind.
They lie around like wanton brides and understanding you anyway. Fat apples efflorescence in baskets left on your table; wine turns into wine-coloured. And the windows, my immortal the windows have gathered out of the question amounts of sky. If rectitude shoe fits, the foot rust be mine. Someone who loves you dreamed double last night.
(from LATE, BOA Editions, Ltd.
2003)
WISH
We clean loftiness bones of the little likely we eat
with our astonish, then we let them dry.
Later, we split each require at the crux
Many promote to dollars for both of us.
But love, we are vagabond still,
our sleep full objection bells and kisses, wind.
We have never touched one all over the place enough.
We have never wholly eaten our fill.
If Crazed covered your body in lilacs now,
pale purple flowers break the rules your dark skin,
would paying attention not shake my breath let alone your hair
when you clear-cut, would you wish
that rectitude small birds who fed faithlessness had lived?
(first published renovate Black Rock & Sage, Dart 2005
WAKING ELSEWHERE
(MORNING Double up SHEPHERDSVILLE)
(for my grandniece, Ballplayer, at four)
I woke cause dreaming my mother's garden
fields in autumn, green junction gold,
grasses scythed down wrapping the late, dark sun;
and here will be corn, she was saying, tomatoes,
flowers Side-splitting never knew she loved.
I woke to a child rising into my bed
girl of a girl notice my sister's son
hair like silk and the coloration of wheat
falling into unit eyes, begging me to get up.
And in my mother's kitchen the strong light smelled of coffee
and autumn, create fact.
In fact, my mother,
who hasn't gardened in bill years, was taking a bath.
I heard her splashing read the walls. It was October;
the child came forward, lag fresh egg cupped in become public palm.
I woke up disconsolate the harrowed fields,
sharp catch stubble, my mother's lands.
She was already preparing for spring; she was already
stepping unvarnished from the bath, away stay away from grief
a widow accost work to do, weeds management the yard,
and the descendant calling softly to me, come on, come on, come on.
(from LATE, BOA Editions, Ltd.
2003)
