NEWTON'S ORANGE Poem by Ewa Lipska

1.

I marvel at new system shows.
The casual elegance of Armani.

Pneumonia wrapped in a shawl of grass.
Already the last cry of democracy.

A line of red mouths.
Cheering love.

On the catwalk dead models.
Railroad tracks of make-up
smudged by the impressionists.

Now everything has become clearer.
God has admitted
to being only human.

Under the gray
slice of a cloud
a dud bill of exchanges.

On the screen the unimpeded
motion of the centuries.

They already were.
We just are.
You are yet to be.

We just are.

In the place of Eden stands a city.
A cluster of blocks of flats
graze on stony meadows.

A yellow tennis ball
hits its mark at the light's center.

You are yet to be.

We will make room for you
in the orphaned future.

We leave behind a moderately healthy garden.
Caravaggio's The Supper at Emmaus.

Take note of the figure
of the inn keeper.
Of rotten apples. Figs. Pomegranates.

They already were.
We just are.
You are yet to be.


2.

I open the door to my books.
Leaves fall out.

On this billiard ball of earth
so much has happened.

A novel of humanity swells.
Bloated chapters of streets
by Giorgio de Chirico.
The imagination's tireless engine.

MacHamlet's on stage.
Self-service theater.
"Poor Yorick." Monosodium glutamate.

Witnesses of history
from a nearby fast food joint.
Farewell to Ofelias made of preservatives.
Chips of fear carried by a gust of wind.


3.

Everything was supposed to be different. Then
on the bridge you swore on a rainbow. The future
had an eternity's guarantee.

We planned life
bent over a topographical map.
Breath to breath.

At this time
an illiterate was already reading Mein Kampf.
Sparks sprung up with a scream.

Now everything has become clearer.

God has admitted
to being only human.

On billboards the hunt for miracles.
Jesus del Pozo perfume
flows into the sea.

I read a lover carefully.
I recall a memory
with its finest details.

A dream did not wait for us.
We forget that
there is no us.

I go out onto the balcony of the city.
The icicles of light evaporate. I breathe.

I invent everything anew
with my eyes fixed on Newton's orange
and on your eyes
which recover
my vision.