Wings Without Angels
The autumn night halts as I halt the moon my gaoler stays where he is while I take one more look at grandma’s place: like a tongue that feels the gaps between teeth like fingertips on my face I’m remembering every nook.
In the hallway the arms of the lantern reach up to lift off work clothes, the peg with grandma’s scarf its odour of hair and the sweat of her brow, grandad’s windcheater stuck with fish scales. The aluminium voice of the door handle, coffee fragrance, and tobacco - in the oven, roast hare! On the way to the sauna the yard light was swinging, hunched up in the puddle like an embryo; me in my red boots.
Clock time didn’t exist, money had no value.
The cows were gentle as could be. if only my verses could breathe with their breathing!
Only an unembraced wind still contracts to a sob in the closed yard, still the Wolf’s Bride wanders and seeks her beloved: the wall of the stove is cracked by a black streak of lightning, faded curtains, wings without angels, swing in the cold blast. Where shall I find my love? How the moss would embrace me! Listen, I shall die before my mother. Take me. More you’ll never get. Now.