Mischa Andriessen Poems

The father says, Jump.
Will you catch me? asks the son.
Trust me.
Up on the sideboard the son hesitates
...

I

Lamb on the table.
The men in the room
laugh and betray their claim
on the stocks of wine and spirits.
...

Two shadows, he opened
the door, did as he was told
by pulling on his shoes, walked
with the steaming coats, accepted
...

She was going to be angry, definitely.
You hurried, slowed, then
ran on some more, no time
for boys, you thought.
...

Father was standing outside the front door.
The son sent him away, waited
long days until he came back,
chased him off again and again
...

It's usually young men, almost boys.
They leave their homes in spring
no time to waste, as if someone's calling them.
The survivors don't remember
...

Like leopards men lie
on the cold, marble floor
they are bald and naked, honest
and I am sick to death of them.
...

I heard we were going up.
My feet braced themselves
of their own accord.
The two men behind me grabbed
...