I keep closing my closed eyes,
Seal the bolted doors of this brain.
Still something trickles through.
The fingerprints on the sprinkled glass.
Yes, I was there.
The stains on the wrinkled sheets.
Yes, he was there.
Only a wash away from complete oblivion.
I am so soaked.
Our father died.
Me and my sister, young,
Retracted still further into childhood,
Onto the couch, filling
Our veins with sugar,
Our eyes with images of
A duck, a mouse,
A long-eared dog.
From time to time we lifted our heads,
Observed
The flow of flowers,
The streams of mother’s friends,
The lips forming words.
The priest listened,
Spread his cormorant wings,
Absorbed our mother.
On our island we waited for
The horizon’s last sail
To disappear, to safely wade
Back to our beds.
…
Our communication: a continuous repetition
Of phrases from a scenario
Badly written, much read,
Excessively rehearsed.
I draw on mine.
You use yours to protect
The table from coffee stains, to gather
The crumbles from yesterday’s sandwich:
You have no mercy for mice.
I leave olive pits on mine.
Having spat them out,
Or posed them carefully after quietly
Using my palm to hide
The mouth from which they came.
…
We eat popcorn greedily because
It’s there until it’s gone.
How it sticks to our teeth
As we watch the show.
