Photograph ©John Stadnicki
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.
I count the mistakes god has done with me,
just to pass the time.
The violent rain hid a blind dog
inside my very bone.
Here, upstairs, both of us in the same body,
awake and hungry,
©Maria Stadnicka, MMXVII
published in ‘Stride’ magazine, available here
Photograph: ©John Stadnicki
Afternoon by the Sea (from Imperfect available at Yew Tree Press)
Through a window, the word points at a high fence.
Beyond the distant melted sands,
bullets across the sky keep in order
our grey memory –
dust in the old man’s bone.
The promised justice moves further away,
into unlit dampness.
Nothing happens in the past, nor tomorrow.
A whisper grows closer, hungry at bedtime,
dissolved by the sound of
stones and cracked glass under my shoe.
The wooden clocks announce the return ashore
of an empty shipwreck.
©Maria Stadnicka MMXVII, published this morning in ‘Stride’ magazine edited by Rupert M. Loydell