An Experience

My pain was once ocean. It was
grey in hue. It kept
coming and going.
It hit rocks hard
repeatedly.

Unlike an average ocean, it whirled
at times, as if it danced
around a single fish. After a while

it became dense. It roared
and murmured simultaneously.
It rocked, it sighed. It jerked,
it moaned. Clashing
with cliffs

it multiplied itself
in million droplets.

It dissolved itself in its own matter.
Eventually, it fell
asleep.

I didn't have
a blanket, I covered it
with my swimming towel.

In its dream the ocean talked
to itself.

I couldn't speak the language.
I caught one phrase and put it
in my mouth. It tasted

salty.

I uttered it
many times

before it hit
home.

observations

Polar bears walk
where she used to. She slowly forgets

the old tracks.

She thaws. Around her neck she's wearing
a green scarf, a green hat on her head
in the midst of winter. Her thoughts have
changed in accordance with her inner
season - the green's not pale green
of the feeble grass blades, it's the green
of the rainforest. (She's never been

to the Amazon river, never planned
to move houses that far, that exotic.)

On facebook she notices only
butterflies, she also counts

fish scales in her free time
on fish swimming in the Pacific Ocean.

Her body's light. Her eyes the colour
of the sky at dusk. Something's ended,
it's that simple - we become
a new person one trait at a time until we are
fully shaped again. In a cafe

she says she doesn't mind kids, and smiles

to a three-year-old
at a nearby table. She tastes
the buckwheat cake, sips cranberry
infusion, drops one of her golden
earrings. Laughing, she ducks under the table.
In the candlelight
she shines.

I didn't know 't is that warm
she says outside the cafe. There is joy
in the statement. Her body's light.

In the car

she frees herself from the hold
of the seatbelt to kiss her boyfriend
at the traffic lights. She gets home and kisses

the cat good afternoon. The cat's still
young. She still has time
to savour hours, to let life
blossom. There were announcements
of new era coming: at Golden Terraces,
waiting for the train, she came across
symbolic. She's wearing green.

She thaws.

Travelers

Today we're traveling backwards
coming of trees and homes, and other people's
fences from behind seems proper.

It's been thought
and planned before we set up
for the journey. We're not caught
by surprise. Right,

we didn't know much
in advance; someone else distributed
the seat numbers
at random. As usually, we're not

in charge; customarily, we do not
complain. Silence - the shape
of no words - makes it easier
to endure
the route. Otherwise

the noise is normal: the train hums, the wind
attaches itself to the metal wheels; the tracks don't care
for the destination. Meanwhile,
the cows chew on the hay, the cats trespass
self-created mindmaps, crows make attempts
at splitting walnuts open

astray dogs cease searching for their owners

city blocks look the other way as we pass,
shut off their windows as we
approach. We do not mind
not being acknowledged, we've been used for long
to indifference, on the way we ceased praying
for divine protecion. Yes, we cope. Yes, we'll die
on the final station. Meanwhile,

everything is fine, the delay gives us
some extra time - we could use it if only we remembered
how to awe, how to

wonder

An Autobiography

I’m a woman living in a port town

whose drowsy name I hardly ever

utter; I spend my days revising

last night’s dreams, rewriting

long -forsaken

tales. This has

no end.

No,

I haven’t seen

the sea

for quite a while. But I do

have a boat. I keep it

in my house’s backyard along with other items

to consider

next. I collect things

for later use (like

light, rain, cats

in dunkelblau). Opposite my room there is

a warehouse made of blank

pages, I write on its walls

in my spare

time

A Woman In a Light Grey Hoodie Saying "Oxford 84", a White T-shirt Underneath and Light Blue Jeans

I'm curious of
you

though it's not
springtime and we're not
at a university campus

I'm eager to start
the new semester
right away

I shall study
and revise

your idiosyncracies one
at a time

there's no hurry
to graduate, the pleasure's

in the process
of gathering
the knowledge

you are

such a perfect
subject