Dedicated

It looks like they're all turning around
To stare at me as I live
And feel and blush.
I know
I reek of olives,
They are stars,
Scribbled vertically
In a parish roster,
Sewn into my lungs
With the threads I once bit off
My grandmother's black scarf
(in which I often found her grey hairs).
On wretched nights I extract them, thorns
From my ankles, these Gothic olives, these daytime stars.
With them I adorn my room,
The commonplace Christmas trees
Of my lonely existence.
I also like to write poems.

(February 1992)
Monday, May 19, 2014
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
COMMENTS

Delivering Poems Around The World

Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...

2/25/2021 11:27:48 AM # 1.0.0.504