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"carnevale" poems
I met an old woman on Leander Avenue who told me, “Don’t breathe or the earth will swallow you whole.” I stayed very still and didn’t move. A butterfly could have landed on my nose but I sneezed so I may never know for sure. After that I remembered that my generation doesn’t have to follow their elders, so I walked to the corner store. I bought three candy bars that I would never eat and tied my shoelaces on the front porch. My neighbor watches old films. He calls them Lumières, and sometimes invites me over. I watch the hand-cranked film flicker black and white over his screen. A troupe of acrobats flip about and wave the French flag, large women kneel and scrub endless linens in the still river, the gardener punishes the mischeivious boy. I smile every time they look at the camera. The slats in the blinds yawn widely and seeing them, the melatonin strikes. Flowing, forcing, endocrinal. The wind whispers Greek words in my ear. Helios, zoetrope, khaos. The trees outside of my window spell out foreign letters. They only make sense one at a time. I can’t spell a word but I speak and realize I can still make a sound. I fall asleep. I never wake but dream of exquisite lavender pillows doused in holy water from the lips of a spouting statue. A Carnevale clown waves at me in the corner and takes off mask after mask. Confetti rains softly from his eyelashes and he quietly laughs into his palm. I want to hold your hand but remember that I am just a raindrop streaking down your car window in a mountain spring storm. I open my eyes.
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Jun 12, 2011
Jun 12, 2011 at 6:05 PM UTC
kate-sims
Afternoon Nap
I met an old woman on Leander Avenue who told me, “Don’t breathe or the earth will swallow you whole.” I stayed very still and didn’t move. A butterfly could have landed on my nose but I sneezed so I may never know for sure. After that I remembered that my generation doesn’t have to follow their elders, so I walked to the corner store. I bought three candy bars that I would never eat and tied my shoelaces on the front porch. My neighbor watches old films. He calls them Lumières, and sometimes invites me over. I watch the hand-cranked film flicker black and white over his screen. A troupe of acrobats flip about and wave the French flag, large women kneel and scrub endless linens in the still river, the gardener punishes the mischeivious boy. I smile every time they look at the camera. The slats in the blinds yawn widely and seeing them, the melatonin strikes. Flowing, forcing, endocrinal. The wind whispers Greek words in my ear. Helios, zoetrope, khaos. The trees outside of my window spell out foreign letters. They only make sense one at a time. I can’t spell a word but I speak and realize I can still make a sound. I fall asleep. I never wake but dream of exquisite lavender pillows doused in holy water from the lips of a spouting statue. A Carnevale clown waves at me in the corner and takes off mask after mask. Confetti rains softly from his eyelashes and he quietly laughs into his palm. I want to hold your hand but remember that I am just a raindrop streaking down your car window in a mountain spring storm. I open my eyes.
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under this grey suburban sky thunders rolling as rocks and drums then silence in concrete transit spaces although wild beats inside our veins hunting scenes and escapes in vain taste of honey and salt on your teeth prey predators and carnival masks smiles dreams feasts fire tears running water silence and lightning remote storms gentle breeze essences and perfumes tobacco leather cinnamon and ashes smells of life and skin it's time to go home home where we will recall every flavor every hug every drop of dew every smile and every single tear their true meaning and we will ask ourselves why? why have we ever parted from our heart? ................ sotto questo grigio cielo suburbano tuoni che rotolano come pietre e tamburi poi silenzio in spazi di transito di asfalto e cemento anche se il selvatico batte nelle nostre vene scene di caccia e fughe invano sapore di miele e sale sui denti prede predatori e maschere di carnevale sorrisi sogni feste lacrime acqua corrente silenzio e fulmini tempeste remote e brezza leggera essenze e profumi tabacco cuoio cannella e cenere odori di vita e di pelle è ora di tornare a casa casa dove ricorderemo ogni sapore ogni abbraccio ogni goccia di rugiada ogni sorriso e ogni singola lacrima il loro vero significato e ci chiederemo perché? perché mai ci siamo separati dal nostro cuore?
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Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 3:31 AM UTC
marco-bo
why have we ever parted from our heart?
under this grey suburban sky thunders rolling as rocks and drums then silence in concrete transit spaces although wild beats inside our veins hunting scenes and escapes in vain taste of honey and salt on your teeth prey predators and carnival masks smiles dreams feasts fire tears running water silence and lightning remote storms gentle breeze essences and perfumes tobacco leather cinnamon and ashes smells of life and skin it's time to go home home where we will recall every flavor every hug every drop of dew every smile and every single tear their true meaning and we will ask ourselves why? why have we ever parted from our heart? ................ sotto questo grigio cielo suburbano tuoni che rotolano come pietre e tamburi poi silenzio in spazi di transito di asfalto e cemento anche se il selvatico batte nelle nostre vene scene di caccia e fughe invano sapore di miele e sale sui denti prede predatori e maschere di carnevale sorrisi sogni feste lacrime acqua corrente silenzio e fulmini tempeste remote e brezza leggera essenze e profumi tabacco cuoio cannella e cenere odori di vita e di pelle è ora di tornare a casa casa dove ricorderemo ogni sapore ogni abbraccio ogni goccia di rugiada ogni sorriso e ogni singola lacrima il loro vero significato e ci chiederemo perché? perché mai ci siamo separati dal nostro cuore?
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