Poetry / Poets

Quiet by Kasia Pilat

Our quiet
apartment: my
shoes tucked in
quietly
next to yours, only sound the

creaking
of bones, the
mattress it
creaks and then

a battalion:
mean, salty men
riding the seas.

They
beckon,
like sirens, but I wish them
szerokiej drogi, then I

heed them no more
now, the prayer
to the goddess Fortuna,
who tosses us mercilessly
‘tween cornucopia
and rudder:

For the mosquito
to alight
on the skin of my lover
so that I may watch
a dual
death
in the heat, or a
brick, love,
to symbolize the heaviness of my
love and my love:

it has become
a storehouse
for your love.

A holding-cell,
a silo
where you can store it,
like corn.
Like wheat.
Like hay.
Like grandpa
and grandma
used to do, maybe,
for when they needed it,
for the winter or maybe
for

now, love.
The sun’s return it is heralding
spring:
the
lemon rinds,
clean water.
The walnut shells,
black tea but where?
Where does my
love
fit
in
in a wild, wet spring,
full in bloom?
Where?

In our
quiet
apartment?
Quietly, next to you?

Amidst the
hay in the
barn or the
outhouse long forgotten
in the cold a
ladybug
crawls,
phone
rings but it is not even
you.

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One thought on “Quiet by Kasia Pilat

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