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Fanning in front of a mirror
poetry [ ]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
by [Aritmosa ]

2004-10-14  |     | 



The autumn morning unfolds another day announcing low.
She is ready to whisper
Those words like snow in sleep, for every blinking window.
I wear this big new pair of snugly laced shoes, black and shiny, she said.
Welcome, dozy child!
Raise your baby, rosy cheeks,
Set down your heavy nighttime bags full of sleeping pills,
Come up with a sun gasping fresh stories – vaudevilles!

The best thing in the world is to dream, she said,
To travel deaf and blind in chaotic movements
With that ancient goal in mind
Through the reverie mines of Osiris.
Give me a wakeless, endless, sweet kiss again
And take away the daily pain.

Take it in your hand, talk,
Open it and wave slowly the fan of moods – colourful breathings.
Forgive the dark, smoky ones, touching them with your forefinger,
Tasting the frugal breakfast of a scholar.
Then walk, walk, walk.

A metro enters the stop –
A drop of tear crossing the wrinkles of a so-called begger.
Breath in, breath out, breath me, breath new,
One, two, three, four,
Even if they want to sheathe you.
Die if you want,
But hear first the zest of yore – the lindy hop under the pavement.

There is no teacher of Irish literature in this classroom.
We could call Joyce instead of sleeping Zirra.
Was she outlawed? – The timetable misses both of them.
Yes. No. Which is it, huh? She or he? Yes or no?
Time is coming, time is leaving.
Go back home, girl!...

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