White Cross

about my ancestors and my life, about losing my dear ones and memories going back to childhood

 

One summer day I visited the Merry Cemetery

fearing Moirai that bring nights

walking hurriedly with small steps

reading colored crosses in a haste

shaking off pollen from my dress

flowers for stubborn butterflies

sitting on my chest’s cross

keeping my lips stitched tight

sealing too big questions

as if the priest were stretching towards me his crucifix

 

They built a black cross at the main street’s corner

I’m looking through the eyelids into the sun

shining brutally on the plain marble

spoiled now and then by some white pigeon

childhood is coming back inside me

all of us are again together

the others still smile telling me it’s useless to pour water for mice

teardrops hurt behind my eyes

the world is like a colored kaleidoscope

turning inside black binoculars

 

My forefathers lie in a small graveyard

in their village they whitewashed the crucifix pale blue

I stop for a while silence grows deeper

amid a forest of men rooted in crosses

a few young branches withered beforehand

many continue walking falling on their feet

where sky unites with earth

sometimes they raise up

 

A child is drawing a cross on the pillow

and falls asleep his front sticking to it

 

("the Merry Cemetery"  -  a famous cemetery in the North of Romania)

Reviews

[Dr. Wood ?]

well this has me......Great write I cannot fault it...I couldn't pick out my favourite pieces as it would mean reciting the whole thing...Brilliant!

[Cristina Moldoveanu]

a gracious bow to you Dr. Wood