Standing Like That
The stone is small and irregular.
It feels like a growth
on the inside of the palm.
The muscles flex as you clutch it.
Glimpsing sideways, you realize
that you probably don’t have the aim
like the others.
So, standing like that,
you just want to eject
that thing you’re holding
at the first possible moment.
You fail to bring the gloves,
and the limestone absorbs
the drops of sweat from the hand.
It angers you,
as you don’t want it
to carry your sweat signature.
But, of course, you know
that one cannot trace the stones
back to anyone.
They belong to all.
First published in WordCity Journal, September 2021
Now You Know
I eavesdropped on you
talking in your sleep.
You spoke in a voice I didn’t know.
You mumbled things about a man
with a knife,
and the moon
that eclipses the sun.
Then came the terror.
I forced myself not to wake you up,
letting you suffer,
wherever you were.
I just listened to your breaths
But you did not come back to me,
even at the apex,
with tears and sweat
all over your face.
And when your muscles relaxed,
when we embraced,
I knew now I only wanted to listen
to that other voice,
and nothing you’d verbalize
in the light of day
would ever matter.
First published in Neon, Issue 51 (Autumn 2020)
I liked that for you the world was broken,
and glued back,
with the cracks exposed.
Over time, I became afraid
your shapes would evolve,
and grow menacing,
I regret we never spoke about
what we saw in each other.
First published in Alba: A Journal of Short Poetry, Issue 37 (2022)
The Liturgy of the Flesh
In November, in Poland,
when the drivers honk like madmen,
you often fantasize
about the end of the world.
Daydreaming about love and hate,
not about forgiveness,
but about the punishment,
you imagine how fire shall consume it all,
and how all shall perish and wither away.
The sinful to pay for their disobedience,
the faithful to be rewarded for restraint.
All to be resurrected upon the end,
led by that sound of the trumpeter.
All the masses for the people long lost,
paid for with money wrapped in envelopes,
with faith that what is invested here
will bring profits there,
and that the body is not lost, but will be made anew
for those who knew how to use it well.
Luca Signorelli painted the scene,
showing how they hoist each other up,
proud of being flesh again,
and Jorie Graham gave it voice,
describing the master,
who dissects and penetrates.
But my mind cannot simply mend itself,
buried in the open flesh, like a snail.
Republished in The Ekphrastic Review, January 2021
Other poems published in journals and anthologies:
The Unwrapping, Neon, Issue 51 (Autumn 2020)
Digging, Neon, Issue 51 (Autumn 2020)
Membrane With Veins, The Ekphrastic Review, February 2020
Cleanness, Comp, May 2022
The Highest Tide, Comp, May 2022
Judasz, The High Window, June 2022 (Featured Poet)
Now You Know, The High Window, June 2022 (Featured Poet)
The Last Veto, The High Window, June 2022 (Featured Poet)
Her Act of Passing, The High Window, June 2022 (Featured Poet)
Jigsaw Puzzle, The High Window, September 2022
Trigger, The High Window, September 2022
Death in Space, The High Widow, September 2022
The Interior, Ink, Sweat & Tears, October 2022 (Pick of the Month poem)
The Magician, The Ekphrastic Review, December 2022 (Finalist of “The Art of Tarot” competition)
Aftermath, Silkworm 15: Visions, December 2022
Synesthesia, The Wild Word Magazine, February 2023