melancholy

March is a Silent Month

Photography by Francesca La Franca

March is a silent month.
Cultivating false hope, derived from late-night
Tarot card readings, and
Shoveling residual luminous wet snow.

The last days of winter left us waiting—
Those yellow daisies;
The house covered in thin transparent smoke,
As we kept warm by the crackling fireplace.

We stayed in the house,
Drinking coffee while staring out of the window
In hopes for something new,
Something old, and something borrowed;
And, when we were bored, we sang out:
gestehe dir, ob du sterben müsstest, wenn du nicht schreiben könntest
I dreamt less that winter as I fled to the east.

          What are the rules of the church of fornication?
What stems out from this dark and slippery memory?
You cannot say, or guess, for only you know.

A heap of shattered images, where the sun refused to shine, and
The dead trees extend their branches to you, their warmth not sincere enough;
Only there is a light flickering in a distance, framed between
Two branches, calling out to you,

(Walk into this depth. Come and stand below me.
I will show you something different than the sun falling behind you, and
Rising in front of you,
I will show you corpses that you can hold,
Du siehst den Wald vor lauter Bäumen nicht.)

The last time you were here, you took an apricot from the ground;
Pierced through its skin, and devoured the flesh,
Drank the juice and threw the seed away.
As the wind blew through the apricot tree, you took more;
Your arms full, and your breath forming in front of you.

When I caught you,
You couldn’t utter a word;
All you could do was blame me for allowing you to take it.

You knew nothing, but
As I looked down at you, I understood
Auf jeden Regen folgt auch Sonnenschein
I forgive you.

Writing by Ethiopian poet Rediet Worku 

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