Poetry by Diana Geacăr

Zoom out and enjoy the view

Is that you? I ask when I feel two hands

grasping my hips as I carry the food bags.

How did you find me, God? Did you follow the strong smell

of insecurity? Spring is the best camouflage. I’m

standing still, walking back home, for you to have me

measured for a new meat costume. Small and fast like 

your packets of light energy. Your palms climb softly on 

my back. Pieces of hardened snow brake from the roof

and hit the ground. In this noise, nobody would

notice the muffled sound a thrown

body would make. You unhook my bra instead.

My breasts start bouncing in the sleet, making

the trees sweat in the patient rain. Forgive me, God, but I want

no complications. I’ve started to reject men even in my dreams. 


A child’s voice saying he discovered

a machine that can change the state of

the atmosphere. A click. Then thunder and lightning.

I stop the tape to give them time to think,

but my students instantly begin shouting: Storm!

Motherlove, I say to myself.

A click. Then a strong roar and something

that breaks. Wind! they shout. Each day, I say.

A click again. Clouds! Cause we hear nothing!

Every evening, on the wall in front of me a perfect

rectangle appears in which shapes cast from reality,

the curtain flowers, burn trembling. A fire frame

in which you and me, God, stare at each other, until it gets

dark, waiting for the other to push the button.

Poetry by Diana Geacăr

Diana Geacăr is the author of three poetry books, a short story collection and a children’s novel. Recepient of important Romanian poetry and fiction prizes, she co-translated an anthology of Anne Sexton’s poems. Her third poetry book, But we are ordinary people, is about the grief of losing her father. 

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