If I had not learned to write, stupid me, I’d be happy. — Papusza’s confession It’s not the forest anymore but too far to the world She closed the pine’s creaking door She’s not home I was lithe as a forest squirrel even though I […]
I pass my hand over the wooden table to see if it has a fever; I still need to learn to recognize the silent sorrow of objects, the docile pose with which they catch the acid rain of hours. At which school do they teach the serene ache […]
A horizon of furious salt. And prudent camels move along with disappearing footprints in caravans. But above them a silvery string of storks recalls, that I once had a hometown in what then was Poland. Dune after dune has erased the trail I left, oh, who has […]
Someone holds you. Your beloved. You see how dust is weightless in the sunlight— seeking a path through two bodies. Is that it? (Or maybe in the guillotine of the sun something else occurs.) Now we fall silent and rest in the mercy of light […]
I remember a plant with leaves palm on outstretched palm nine-fingered each long I thought, without remembering its name before I was decapitated I shouted out castor castor I remember he said something about wanting to burrow from my vagina to my womb so that I’d be […]
Already there are already plants already they are blooming Then it’s our turn Then their’s again We’ve stopped in only for a moment Flowers are older than us It’s not youth but the speed of plants that confuses us Unmoving green outruns the reds of our […]
He cut it from a hedge—the breaking day sad but not cold—and turning, he began to move. And moving, he was on his way. It was a hedge beside a cemetery: the cemetery where his mother lay. He’s wandered ever since. Nothing to carry except that staff. Has […]
You tell me you miss those slow paced days of the past the equally leisurely pace of bicycles and leaky wristwatches We’re both out of step with the times, lifting our old-fashioned cups of coffee drinking a cup to Caroline, another to poverty drinking a toast to the […]
I walked by the light of many full moons, under the fiery sun, my hands were dirty, my clothing torn, destroyed, my hair snarled like a ball of thread without a strand as a path to untangle it, my breasts, bound up with woven fronds of the buriti […]
The crucified— mocked nailed and abandoned is the story from 1 AD to now, the point of our civilization. A brilliant concept, with its guarantee for eternity. Behind the scenes, always in the depths— the Romans. Who, as everyone knows, are not barbarians. Irene Ivantcheva, […]