More attachment to a city
in its autumn heart I find not only the twilit cold
one could expect
at the end of October
but layered structures that seem to exist in the strangest places.
Walking Oslo once again I wish for more
eyes to notice
more
hands to feel
more
memory to not forget.
As I walked through a friend’s garden,
I noticed autumn’s vanguard.
Funny, I thought.
There doesn’t seem to be anything more beautiful –
than September Rain on a goldfish pond
than rain coated tomatoes (that won’t get red any more)
than a tiny pool bordered by hibiscus petals
than sturdy blossoms awaiting the end of the year.
Guess my thoughts, I say,
to myself (because there is no one else I could ask)
and I answer:
It would feel a little strange to be a Rumanian stray dog
in Constanța
but I could do worse,
chasing cars
chasing fleas
chasing my own shadow as long as there is a sun in the sky.
I would spend 3000 ₩ on a pack of rice chips to feed the seagulls
and I would have their screams accompany me down the beach.
I would walk across to have a look on the other side (and maybe I would stay there.)
I would wait for the sun to set just to see the magnolia at nightfall (between burial mounds, it is death and short term life, as always.)
And I would be a Koi in cold pond water.
Sometimes when you take the road leading south
even in March
there is snow instead of yellow cornelia blossoms.
But you just have to zip up your spring jacket
and wrap your scarf around your neck for a second time.
Maybe tomorrow
there again
will be
sun.
On a mild mid-march day’s afternoon,
(the blossom was yet to come)
many a selfie was taken.
a teddy was carried through the Namdaeum market
(and I think it was half his owner’s size)
and someone finished his lunch and was pretty satisfied with it.
While some shared with pigeons
(colour-coordinated)
others guarded fluffy pyjamas. I might have gotten one (or not, would you?)
In the evening
the weather cooled down
and I found beasts (plastic paked)
who would have known.
Winter came late this time and
as I strolled Warsaw’s cobblestone pavement
as my hands were pressed against the insides of my pockets
as I found snowflakes in the corners of my squinted eyes, making my sight blurry,
I met a lady outside of her shop.
She stood there and had a smoke, a cold one. A smoke with wind in the back of her neck and around her ankles.
„Warsaw is rather cruel to you“, I said, but I guess she didn’t hear me.
Maybe I didn’t say it out loud.
irisgassenbauer 