And yet another midnight storm
Washes away the cold poetry
Born at the top floor.
I balance my whole weight
On long words,
Frozen stones on my tongue.
The fortress is shut
The town stops breathing
I count the mistakes god has done with me,
Just to pass the time.
The violent rain unsettles
The angel hidden inside my very bone.
Here, upstairs, both of us in the same body
Awake and hungry
Listen.
My milk teeth, lost on the floor
In a puddle of blood,
Grow wings.
Photo: Maria Butunoi
I made a big fire
In the middle of the room
In your absence I sat down white
Watching the carpet burning,
The books, the shadow you drew
On the wall, a while ago.
( it looked like a piece of absent land )
The neighbours could see the flames
Coming through the shut window
As I went to bed covered in ash;
But I did not mind such a public display.
I was not in a hurry.
The landscape locked me in.
The real winter began.
Acrylics, ink, newspaper: Maria Butunoi
Sometimes when both of us have dinner
The silent wolf stops by to watch.
I hear the knock on the window but keep
Looking at you and burst into fits of laughter.
We talk about the constant rain and
Listen to the tapping sound on the roof.
I offer you another glass.
The distant howl breaks the metallic echo in the room.
The ocean drips and drips
Cold over the plates, the table cloth
Whilst I wipe everything clean
Ready to hold new words between my beautiful teeth.
Mixed media: Maria Butunoi
‘Would you kill a bird’ I asked the angel.
The angel stopped and lit a cigarette
And said nothing back.
Then, after a pause, the colours faded.
‘Would you kill a bird’ the angel suddenly asked me.
I said nothing.
A stone was growing between me and my mouth.
Between my flesh and my heart,
The rust.
Photo: Maria Butunoi
I am a real person
And everything known to me has a colour.
The sun gravitates around me.
When I am beautiful
In my collected tears grow forests.
Photo: Maria Butunoi
We did not think we needed food
When we set to walk back in the dark
Guided only by the reflection
Of the angular words
But
It rained so much overnight that
The road collapsed
The city has now locked you in
With me
Hungry in a white room
At the top floor.
You take the unspoken word and
Look at it under the magnifying glass
In the dark
You live out all the unnecessary sorrow and beauty
And get to the bone of the language
With very small steps
Learning to walk in poems
Naked stone
And in learning so
The need to talk grows in the broken wood.
I was just talking to you when
The sudden breath I heard from the other side
Made me think
I too had
The same great fear of living forever
But said nothing.
Perhaps nothing was meant to settle
In front on this wall
And no! the metaphor you look at now
In this precise moment is nothing
But a distraction in my need for time.
Born to sit very still and observe
The details of your small victories
I am therefore only a brief graceful trap
Which you should never directly face.
I exist
On both sides of the fence
Exactly because you quietly follow my voice
In this imperfect landscape
A drop of ink, revealed by the greatness of your half empty glass.
I live in a round house across the road
And every day I wave the invisible white flag
Just to distract you from writing so many letters.
Other times, all I do is stare at your reflected image
Bent over the desk,
Thinking whether your back is broken
Having to bear so many words.
You do not lift your eyes up
Never see anything but yourself.
The only time you stand up and walk to the door
Is to refill the glass with sand.
No news from the outside world.
You do not know we are at peace.
I sigh when I sleep
And turn my back to the sea.
My body gets smaller and smaller
Ready to enter the wooden box.
The history grows between us
Like a living room plant
In a small, windowless house
But at least you live by the fire
While I am the black ink of this poem
Staring at you during the night.
My bright eyes reflect
The shadow of your absence,
Waiting for a new, final peace.
Photo: Georgiana Calinescu-Barber
Maria Stadnicka 