august

today i smelled my hands.
i squatted on the stair in front of my house
while the sun rose ruthlessly in the sky,
and i shred with my palms the air
heavy with the scent of mowed grass,
hoping that on my fingers would remain
imponderable strips of summer.
but my hands smelled of night and of smoke,
of burning candles and of crumbled temples.
on my clawing fingers
trickled the sins of the pasts,
and then i lifted my hands,
trying to stop them from sliding,
but they kept flowing,
passing my wrists,
then my elbows,
up to my armpits,
and their traces, like those of snails,
shone silvery in the sun.
so i lowered my arms,
i closed my eyes
and i let the light take back the shadows it had given me,
until in the incandescent translucence of the morning,
with my hands now smelling of wax and basil,
with my eyelid pierced by time
and my heart beating in green salty rhythms,
i found again the tide of my senses,
watching its ebb and flow inside me
like in a conch,
caressing in slow motion its patchy joints,
and then my flesh, harboring silences,
smiled summery

© 2014 Liliana Negoi

originally written in Romanian

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Comments
One Response to “august”
  1. i would love you to read this masterpiece in soundcloud Lily !

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