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.
Fathersick
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.
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.