dys-lexia fussynated with a poem righting

a ob servation of the com'on objex:
a woden door - a quiet ex pecktation
twoo pepple meetting - a convertsassion
a fone rringing - a raer bird
a seeled envlope, a broken klock
tree men running in orangue snickers
 whyte balloon takeing flite o'erhat
in spy-t of f-ear

the wordriot, the rebellyon
of creatiff mind, the mind brocken
loose: thots spring
on greengraas
like rab bits



(after Monica Wood, The Pocket Muse)

Oppositions

What's the opposite of a kiss?
                              - a bite
The opposite of green? antarctic white

Of a train? a pile of broken bikes
Of cake? a funeral, or Finnegan's Wake

What is the opposite of a fence? an open space
The opposite of an I? the Uni-verse 



(after Monica Wood, The Pocket Muse)

Oya

my body belongs to you no more
it's moved away
after last night's fight

don't look for its current whereabouts
even if you found it, it won't let you
in

it'll pretend it is not at home
it'll turn silent if you ring the bell
or call the police if you turn persistent

so what if it used to yield
to your will

its resolution
is suddenly vital

it has taken things
in its own hands
it has fixed the fence, rearranged
the rooms to gain a new look
and renewed a licence
for living a life
of its own

slowly
it'll learn
to recognize
its drives

it might take a course
in re-collecting
its forgotten parts

it'll go to places and do things
to its liking

it'll meet people

it might take pleasure
in talking to strangers

if things go fine
it may take a flatmate
the following spring

presently
it will lock the door
and put the key
under the pillow

it needs some sleep
and maybe some dreaming

without your needs
to be met
it's got the entire time
in the universe

the bed has grown
in size
overnight

the body doesn't know
what to do
with so much space
available

it'll find out

relationship

my skin has grown old
from expectation

I'm bored with living
this way, it says
and yawns to prove it

what can i do if
nobody comes
to touch you

go find someone
the skin insists

it thrives on making advice

I want to have things
my way

let us wait a bit longer
I propose
secretly I don't feel like
any change, one can have
one's habits
at this age

You may go and buy a dress
to make me feel present
it demands
I promise in order
to play for time

it doesn't believe me
and it knows I know

as a sign of warning
or maybe
to make itself occupied
the skin starts drawing lines

it has picked
my face and the outer sides
of my hands
as its favourite
working areas

it becomes more and more advanced
with practice

it stretches itself
in the wrong places
too

when I go nuts it responds
with softening
of the arms

Finally I arrange a massage session

my name's Tanya
the woman says and leaves the door
ajar, her voice has
a lilt, the room smells of
some exotic country
suddenly I feel like home
I cannot remember

under the touch of her oily palms
my skin sheds itself
and gently coils in the form
of snake
under the massage table
i want to put it away
before i go
leave it to me, Tanya says
I can take a good care
of serpents

the next day
I go and buy a dress

Indian palms swirl on the fabric

walking down the street
against my expectation
my body sings

haunting, a chant

I did not know until I did learn
my "no" could overthrow a chair

I always knew but I never shared
how much I'm scared

I will never forgetmy Father's blessing
in my Father's threat

I do not remember
those springs, that long lost
December

I hardly realised
when I had been told
one day I'd grow
old

I ignored the truth, comforting the lie
that there isn't I

I saw in another, never in myself
an ability
to tell
 
One day I found in me
a scar as well as
the scar-inflicting knife

Only with time
did I get to know
the warmth inherent

in the cold of snow

I made up stories
never craved
a kiss

I'm no longer
longing

I am
a bliss 











 

eating out

last week, instead of wasting time on cooking
I took my demons out for dinner
the place was called "pieces"

the demons showed no interest
in the fancy menu, instead
they started out with what was more
familiar

one reached right beneath my ribcage

the other poked at my sore eye
(the eye was sore from looking
at things
to see
no change
in the long run)

the next one tore
a mouthful
off my left calf

another had delight
in my fingertips

the last one insisted on
my brain

eventually
they all fell asleep
their heavy heads
rested on the tables

with an ax from the kitchen,
with a borrowed knife
I could have cut them off
one after another
could've watched the heads
rolling on the floor

instead I opened them up
and drank the dreams
till the last nightmare
became mine

***
healty diets are good
for healthy people

for too long a-time
I've fed on fear,
I have grown addicted
to my daily portions

calm might appear lethal
to my digestive system

***
before I went home
I called my demons
by their first names

waken up
they walked behind me
like obedient dogs

a woman, still life

1

In van Gogh’s painting the stars whirl forever

wild geese are getting back from Africa

at the back of the shop selling Indian scarves

a mother scrambles eggs for children’s breakfast

2

In an old framed photo

a girl runs the length

of a wooden bridge

the river roars and hums below

the girl doesn’t need to drown

she doesn’t know that she knows

the song

3

From the wall Hathor, an Egyptian goddess

sees a woman wearing a bohemian dress

bare feet recall last night staccato

green roses bloom on cherry red silk

the bedroom beams with rays of sudden pleasures

4 

on crocheted curtains

chickens walk in patterns

eggshells sit still 
on the kitchen table

behind the doorstep

danger sleeps forever

I'm all for the date

February 29th :)

Life Sketches From Memory

Central Park in spring

Two boys playing soccer

exhilliarating voices kick in the air, the ball
moves smoothly, tireless and graceful

On a nearby bench, grandmother walks indigo ink

in long smooth lines across the paper

Out of all silhouettes

her eye purposefully catches

two. The art of choosing

is difficult 
only

for beginners

Evening

She walks her backyard garden

from behind the window

eyes move with effort
along the path

Each days ends, inevitably -
what a relief

to know this

it’s about time

to sleep

The Potomac River

disappears beneath 
blue horizons

Vacancy

Pair of brown shoes

hasn’t moved past the doorstep

for a year now. Near the glass door 
to the home-made
greenhouse, a bamboo chair

sits

stubbornly

An Interval

The kitten has fallen asleep in an armchair

out of half-opened window

dreams jump

like pond fish

Souvenirs

She’s been told

it doesn’t pay to travel

on one’s own, especially if one is

female; the world’s so

dangerous these days

packing

a slim suitcase
she turns

a deaf ear on the rubbish

soon          

new words will swirl around her

like spells, gestures will acquire

a novel meaning

each time
she learns to understand

anew

on the local market

remnants of glass cups

gain a second life 
in a pair

of hand-made earrings

from Abyssinia

she’ll wear them

at a dinner party
back in another time zone

Anticipation

his girlfriend’s on the way home

from a long trip

to her parents’

the young man

paints the walls magnoliac

the old room blooms

with a possible story

Words

Satsuma makes a name

for fruit, porcelain

and land topography

an avid student savours

dictionary entries

in a language class

In her hut in a village

on Satsuma Peninsula

an old woman eats tangerines

and drinks lukewarm tea
from a chipped cup

Motherhood

On the borderline

of night and day

words wake up a poet

with eyes closed, she gropes

for pen and paper

beside her bed

Haikus, a second draft

Passing

Two boys playing soccer

grandmother sketches

with indigo ink

A single leaf gone

bamboo chair

stays in garden

From her bedroom

woman looks at

Potomac River

Kitten asleep in armchair

the window closed

sunrays move on kitchen sill

Journeys

A girl wearing earrings

remnants of glass

glitter in the sun

Young man

paints green room

magnoliac

A letter comes

across the ocean

at tea time

In her hut

on Satsuma Peninsula

old woman eats tangerines

On the borderline

of night and day

a poet gropes for pen and paper

Family Stories

Part II

1.

Once upon a time there were two
homeless boats, one belonged
to me the other belonged
to my other sister, we were first
inseparable then things went
off track one day she said
I'm leaving
where are you heading she said
towards the ocean, I'll find
a bay I want to live
my way oh how I couldn't go
who'd meet
my parents' dream and need, the following day
she left and
I stayed


2.

I'm a collector of everybody's feelings
I consist of other people's expectations
I feel upset unless every single person in the room
feels fine
I find myself uneasy till I calm everyone
I can't find out my right to wander until I place
every guest in the right room

I'm restless waiting in case someone changes his
or her mind, I then willingly change
my own agenda to match those of all
around me, I'm so happy to appeace
and please, I feed others
on my life energy, how could I use it
to my own benefit if there are people
craving elsewhere

I'm not going my own way, I'm not going
anywhere, how could I rid you
of my precious presence

Yes, I will take a good
care of all of you, I'll pretend
I'm waiting my turn, my turn will
never come, I've known it
from the very start, I must have
agreed on this vicious circle

my advantage is
I'm placed in the centre

at the cyclon's core
it's forever quiet

I'm forever safe
in the cyclon's eye


3.

I am a daughter of a motherless mother
My mother walks along the streets
of a suddenly unfamiliar town
carrying a rag doll she sewed
for herself, her mother runs

the streets of her home town
to which she no longer lends
a recognition, on her way
she smashes the shop windows
she throws stones
on mannequins
wearing white night gowns

there's one placed in every window

she could pass for a ghost
if it weren't for the glass in pieces
on the pavement

my little mother presses
the rag doll to her flat chest
terror reflected in the button eyes
she'd sewn herself
onto the doll's face
so that she could
see

my husband's wife

my husband's wife makes the beds

and  does the laundry simultaneously

she does the shopping and the

ironing, she knows how to use
the vacuum cleaner. She visits

the hairdresser's at a regular

basis, she wears

reasonable clothes 

her golden

wedding ring is matt. She doesn't

really notice

busy with things that never cease

to come

She's raised two kids, has turned 

successful in the kitchen, mastered the art

of folding clothes. She knows life, 

she's attended parties and been on holidays

at different turns
of the year

she celebrates the right 

occasions, 

she's never questioned

her being

happy

my husband's wife is older than me 

I haven't gathered that much experience

in taking part in ordinary life - usually I was

 somewhere else
at the same time she must be much younger 

she hasn't learnt yet how to

disobey, it hasn't turned to her that she could

rebel

She's my husbands wife, I am 

married to her husband, I lead

two lives simultaneously, he doesn't know

I do

I leave it 

like that

structures

I wish I was a big woman

It would be nice to be a big woman

It could be good to be a big woman

It'd be fun to be a big woman

I'd like to be a big woman

What if I were a big woman

I suppose I might be a big woman

I believe I could  be a big woman

I think I possibly am a big woman


          I feel I am a big woman
       
          I see I am a big woman

          I actually am a big woman

          Thank God I am a big woman


     I love being

A       Big       Woman

the way back home

1
it's
two o'clock, the night is fast
asleep; disinterested in yesterday's
affairs, the lamp posts grow
along the city streets
the dishes sleep, half-emptied,
on desolated tables
the party's

over

2
the car is taking us to our
divergent quarters
I recollect myself
inside
the leather-coated
silence

3
out of the window
the moon is stylish but is shy as well
the crescent shape
in the winter's air
makes an allusion
to your silhouette
the barren fields retell my absent-

-mindedness

as someone's sitting
in the driver's place

I weigh your last night's dance

4
back in your house your evening dress
is probably dreaming on the bathroom
floor - spread like a ghost or
curled in an embryo
shape, abandoned

like the last night's
guest

an invitation

we're all set around the light brown

table, the lights are bright

in after-Christmas windows
it's early and the evening's getting handsome

come dance with me
against the expectations

your daughter swooshes carols

her boyfriend recreates the accordeon

they're so young 

we're all having fun

despite the difference in the age zones (and 

some of us 

are freshly made 

acquaintance)

come dance with me
let's not neglect the chances

the hours increase

at a steady pace

nobody minds

except the young - they wish

us gone, that's why she turns off

the microphones, he puts away

 the accordeon
but this time the night 

has her own plans

the orange tiles shine

on the kitchen floor

against the expectations 

the air's getting 

fine

the first guests say 

the last goodnight

come dance with me

behind the people's eyes

you spread your body
on the dark grey sofa

like a soft blanket between

the conversations, voices keep 

fading in the living room
- it's well
past midnight

between the drinks I count
your varnished toes

the number seven's plain

I chipped the colour off 

you simply say
handing another drink

to yet another friend

the town has gone to bed

now there are only four of us left

you're included in the pack

(upstairs your husband tells
your little boy

his night night story)

the house is yours, it's getting really

late but not too late
to let the music
play

come dance with me

let them think what 

they wish

your husband sleeps, the town's
asleep,

come on, come dance

with me