Instructions

Never trust mirrors
or too shiny apples.

Don’t love after midnight,
red is a wolf’s attraction.

Frogs with crowns
happen to be green.

Shoes don’t fit perfectly.

Don’t expect kindness from fire
or deadly needles to be sharper,

and remember to blush
listening to fairytales.

***

She opens the door. White walls blind her for a moment and her eyes become horizontal slits. The floor is cold and wet, she remembers spilling milk yesterday. Dry air smells of too old cheese. There is a small window in front of her. It’s more like a round hole actually, since there is no glass in it. She looks outside. Nothing there. She tries again. Nothing. She has never seen nothing before.

Promise

Earth is warm and tender. I dig a small hole and make it smooth with the top of my fingers. Then let it in. It’s comfortable now. So small, so precious. A layer of soft earth covers it like a woolen blanket. A little bit of water. Not too much. I put my head on the ground, my ear playing with wet earth. I am waiting but can not hear loud sounds of its young roots cutting earth in two. I know. It’s going to come quietly and only when I won’t be looking, to surprise me with the green smile. So, I close my eyes. I won’t look. I promise.

kitchen

grass

tea in transparent cup
ripe pear melting
in my mouth
discovered taste of
not ready apple

in my hand

too early touched
curtain with
spring garden
washed in oil rain

unexpected guest

always late
for his glance
of never seen past

behind the glass
untouched view
with trees
once young
and brave wind

catching a balance of
forgotten landscape.

Herself

She doesn’t recognize herself today,
she has forgotten time.

Maybe if she had a watch:
small, round drop of glass
balancing on her wrist,
holding to thin, leather belt,
hiding behind woolen sleeve.
Her own watch, her own time.
Time she could control:
speed up when waiting,
slow down when ironing,
abandon if wasted.

But she doesn’t have a watch,
she doesn’t control time.
She has forgotten herself today.

***

His coat, suitcase and umbrella today. Stroked kiss on her right cheek. Closed door. Window. Curtain in her right hand, the left one is waving. He doesn’t wave back. Suitcase in his right hand, umbrella in the left one. The curtain slips from her hand and for a couple of seconds he is not there anymore. She smiles. But then again. She grabs the curtain with her right hand, the left one is waving.
The curtain is soft and thick, made of dark brown velvet. Fabric touches her hand like a flow of warm water mixed with jasmine detergent. She puts the fabric around herself and waits. A dark brown wave hits gently and she agrees to drown in its softness. Water flows through her fingers touching the skin with the mute stream. It covers her face and she can’t breathe. But she is a good swimmer. It takes her four lengths of the kitchen sink before she catches for breath again. With her face under the brown water, she opens her eyes. Life here is calm and slower she could imagine. Millions of dust particles come close to her feet and comfort her tired skin with their invisible tongues. She could stay in this approved imprisonment. She might stay here for good.

list

two pairs of grey socks
on the sleepy wash line
suitcase which belongs to my father now
cardboard butterfly
doll with white hair
seen only once
ungrateful appetite
always ready for treat
very important beetle
in the less important jar
pair of grey-blue eyes
property of my brother
old, grumpy table
victim of any childhood
smell of her dress and
silent conversation
because I can’t remember any sound

02.05.07