Your feet bear the promise of freedom
as I rest my lips on them.
They carry so many stories of faraway journeys,
some of them that have passed,
others that will come to pass.
What roads will they roam?
And will they bring you back to me?
We have the same birthday,
my dear time traveler,
35 years apart.
Meet me again. And again.
“I wonder… Why did you write that with the end of the world?”
“That it’s the end of the world as we know it?”
“Yes, that’s it!”
“Well, isn’t it. I sure hope it is…”
“What do you want this full moon to change?”
PS The lower part of the T-shirt is self-made, while the poem is a collaborative writing piece by Bea, Andreea, Moni, Ilinca and me. Ilinca is eight years old and wrote the last line. The title is the image on top and the lines were written one by one, without any of us seeing what the others wrote. We just uncovered the whole thing at the end and enjoyed the surprise.
The photo of the full moon was taken by Bea.
All from the all girls Full moon & eclipse blockprinting party I hosted yesterday.
a violin at the restaurant across the street
tiny frogs in the park
my lines flowing so smoothly on the asphalt in front of me
i do not want to erase them anymore
cheesy songs come to mind
cheesy is the new black
but I can finally breathe again
still, life’s testing my patience
no attempt to shut down the mind
i just run
the hookers are eating chocolate ice cream
I wore amber today.
Did you know it’s our second summer apart?
I still find it difficult to write about.
so I make everything rhyme
and sound beautiful like a chime
the second night I dream I’m in your arms
the warmth, the safety, the comfort that charms
and still your best gift was letting me go
so now there’s nothing either of us should owe
“What shall I get you?”
Massimo, the Italian restaurant owner comes to take my order.
“I’ll start with summer, please. The second. With a touch of amber.”
“Coming right up!”
And I make an exception and stay for dessert,
Which means I get a whole hour to run.
I notice the dead leaves fallen at my feet as I’m running tonight –
Her Majesty’s most loyal subjects.
Meanwhile, my lines have lost their reason to rhyme.
I get back to my purple hotel room,
Take off my running clothes –
A snake shedding her skin –
Light my pink candle and an incense stick,
Befriend my new heart and
Sit down and write
While up there, quietly, the moon is filling up again.
PS Did I tell you I now go jogging every night? To think I used to believe it’s so boring…
Nothing else on me
No phone, no water, no money
No shadows of lovers gone
A stabbing pain in my back
As I’m running through this melting heat
There seems to be so much noise down here
Two weeks up in the north have that effect
They make you whisper
Why trade the forest for the asphalt?
I have nothing to say
Everything to live
PS Took the photo last week in Sweden, Stockholm area.
Când eram pasăre
Mă-nțepau rădăcinile penelor
În piele, căutând albul oaselor
Dacă picioarele-mi zăboveau
În țărână prea mult.
Drumurile mele toate
Începeau cu V și cu U.
Copacii, hanuri de popas
Când aripile osteneau.
Când eram pasăre
Mă purta vântul în îmbrățișare,
Iar inima mea vuia, nu bătea.
Când eram pasăre
Mi-era dor de pământ.
Wrote it during My summer school creative writing workshop with kids.
I touch my thighs
I see the lines of my body drawn on the asphalt
I feel them vibrating
I mold them like clay
If I press here, it gives in
stubornness is a thick line
ashes to ashes, dust to dust
an evening run after a day only on liquids
hunger is such a deceitful word
fear hides behind the “hun”
loneliness behind the “ger”
as a late night snack
wars are always lost
I don’t fight my inner demons
I love them instead
I ask them their names
to thank them
and release them
I try to do the same with people
demons find a shortcut to my compassion button
anything must be possible
when it is made so
PS Took the picture in Hotel Traian, Brăila, 2009. Natacha Merritt style.
suspended on their platforms
each wearing something red
complaining about low pay
waving sumptuous handheld fans
of long days between stone walls
in crinoline and lace
I still believe it takes such
can I call it generosity?
death by stoning
no exclamation mark as the words stop in mid throat
shall I call it availability?
of long forgotten fears between two legs
I was dead
bearing the story of resignation
life took me by the hand
and invited me to dance
I said no
PS I took the photo at a Rodin exhibition in Stockholm in January.
It lingers a bit and then slides like melting ice cream
Before the night quickly licks it off my skin
The moon is half full
Armies of crickets are singing their anthem
Bracing themselves for another long night
I run past these tables outside a restaurant
“At the seaside I never go swimming, actually”
A girl’s voice says in English
And I remember her holding me
As I tasted her salt from my lips
I could never surrender to anyone like that
Not risky enough
My life at stake, all bravery awakens
What is it about this body that’s so important?
I see its shadow in front of me on the asphalt
What is it about it that’s so repulsive,
So desirable, so fragile, so strong
And yet so utterly honest
To the point of betrayal?
This dark stain on my chest
I touch it and it’s wet
How can one sweat just on the left?
Right where it hurts
I measure the concentration of salt
With the tip of my tongue
I think I’d better light some of that incense tonight
An island planted in the entrails of the city
Shipwrecked on its shore
I find shelter
Succumbed to a will that is finally my own
A tall fire starts in the darkest corner
And there I call you
I love you
In all the languages I have ever spoken to you
In all the languages we will ever speak
I promised to come
Here I am
I am free and you are free
I say it loud and clear
In all the languages that bound me to you
In all the languages that set us free
For all lifetimes to come