tightrope walker
between stars
trembling on my feet
the touch of the man
I never knew



as if my bones
could blossom
while still awake
the touch of the man
I never knew



his hand over mine
longer than usual...
the new moon's light
reveals an old stain
on my pillow



his fingers
ruffling my hair...
the full taste
of blackberries
for the first time


all your promises...
step after step
fearing to crush
white daffodils
lost in a deep forest

*

these trees
losing color so slowly ...
it takes only one day
for a strong wind
to leave them at rest

while dew was still shining on flowers
mother went with her knapsack of seeds
to the cemetery
to raise petunias and daisies
father climbed to the top of the cherry tree
half-sleeping
a baby spring wind opened a pathway
in his white hair

some bees came to visit us
I waved my arms to send them away
fearing they would frighten dad
or they would make him think it was too late
waking him up
or lulling him asleep completely

at our home
while mother pulled out weeds
father lay stretched atop the cherry tree
as over a calm sea
to avoid drowning
the way all dead float still on their backs
over flowers

the wife beater sings with all his heart
his mournful song of love
the tremolo of his voice brings shivers up the spine
his mistress is **** beautiful
shining like the moon
with rosy cheeks and cheeky smiles
she waits for his lover every Friday
when her man goes fishing

at sunset he goes home
whistling along the way
his grumpy wife waits him on the porch bench
hiding her tears in her apron
crossing her milk leg feet
he strikes her
she curses him whispering between her teeth
……………………………………………………….
the wife beater’s mistress raises her cheeky grandchildren
her ex-lover sings every Sunday
glory to the lord in the chapel
his throat aches his chest fills with pain
he crawls home like a sick worm
sits down on the porch bench
looking astray near his wife

and she curses God between her teeth
for taking him slowly away

alive and alone
I have to chew others’ scolding laughter or contempt
I stand tall
I stand small
with all the music in the world
smearing me like oil
in a gas station disco bar
thinking that I can’t pack my clothes
to leave the dancers behind  

sneaking in the kitchen when others are asleep
dreaming about paradise islands
where it is warmer
I slowly drink my coffee
chewing bread crusts
as if they were mom’s slippers
when my teeth were showing up

to raise myself little by little
up to the blackbird’s nest
already forgotten by God
my long hair more and more rough and salty
to wrap it around the bird as if a dry tree’s cradle
to feed it from my green nut eyes
from tears of happiness
to make it grow
with its wings crisscrossed
with a bolted beak
until it will be bigger than the sun in my eyeballs
and the only door opened like the clear blue sky
yet forbidden for me
would eventually close

She lives alone.
No cat, no budgie, no TV, no phone.
Only a cactus.

Each time her mother comes around
she has tears in her eyes,
because her mother always dusts off the plastic door mat.

She thinks that too much dust will **** her someday.

It's raining and I remember again my grandpa's words: Lord, give it clean! It feels like quenching a fire, one of the first autumn rains, its sound growing, tapping on the tin windowsills, slithering through trees and through my veins...Lord don't let us grow old, my grandpa also used to say. Is it youth or old age within this rain? Only time can tell...

rain...
the season of handmade bricks
long forgotten