Maria Stadnicka, ‘Weather Forecast’ – pastel, pencil and ink on paper
We have become so good at
talking about the weather
when we don’t speak at all.
Not a moment of silence can pass
without me reminding you
how you left the white empty chairs outside.
Look, it rained on them
for weeks and weeks,
we have nowhere to sit and rest now.
We walk on the frozen cement with bare feet
the rust peels off in the sun,
our skin peels off
to reveal the true colour of our bones.
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