Remembrance, by Andreea Iulia Scridon
Posted on August 12, 2020
, for these are those things nearly forgotten…
Morning’s air so clean
even the cigarette smoke
billowing out
of the magic lamp balcony above
mirrors the mountain fire.
Repeated tapping — do they make babies or mince meat?
Afternoon,
the kid who howled the Gregorian chant of goooooooaaaaaal,
the dog that howled at the church bells, thinking they were the moon.
Evening,
the amber streetlamps that twinkled like Hollywood
as I walked down their hilly cosmos with the people I loved.
Repeated tapping — their canes on the pavement of the empty street?
Always the same obsessions,
like flies that hover under a lamp even when it isn’t on.
You’re from galaxy me and I’m from galaxy you,
I’ll break my neck or finally belong to this world…
before I was ruined, I was even lovelier
than the Asiatic lily, blooming a single night.
Nobody tells you it comes out of cruelty.
I don’t know why suffering grew me lovely,
or if it was worth it?