Ποίμα J.DURAN

2012-11-12 18:25

In  Alones, Crete

I borrowed a brush  from  a nearby  grave.

The briars  grew high around yours –

and the burrs stuck stuck to my dress.

When I swept away the dust  and water

flakes of whitewash dislodged.

I enjoyed the movement of the brush

and that I was doing, after all, something practical

that you would have liked,

pushing the long water across your grave.

In the corners the clean pools shone –

a feeling of ease and custom, as I had walked

round and round the grave with smoking

incense I have seen daughters do in Crete –

lighting the oil lamp in a glass case

that has a cigarette packet, a photograph,

busying themselves, laying down fresh basil.