Three Poems

by | Dec 12, 2023 | Issue Thirty-Six, Poetry

Apology

I'm sorry I'm late.
I just gave birth to my husband —
says the woman.
She's naked 
and pushes 
a giant pram. 
The baby floats
in a clear sky. 
I’m not sure if he is 
an Airbus plane
—she adds.


November

Grandpa's horse
calls me by my brother's name.
Ready-drawn letters,
watches, hats,
a vintage car
and a black coat
come from his mouth.
November is the month when God takes a vacation -
says the horse in an angry tone.
His hard feelings are justified
as grandpa never gave him off-days.
I try to imagine where God might rest.
I get into the car 
which fell from the horse's mouth
and set out for the sea.
The horse, of course,
forgets to wish me
happy holiday.


Nectarine

On the beach, my ex-lovers ignore each other, saying the same soft, fragrant, pink, forgotten-now-rediscovered word: nectarine. The poorest of them, the one so poor that he lives in a shell, utters the syllables… nec ta rine …quite amazed at their somehow fattish and sleepy taste. The richest of them, the one so rich that he lives in a castle of clouds, utters the syllables in awe of their sultriness. I listen to their mumbling and caress the beard of the one who is neither poor nor rich. In the evening, I write my name on the forehead of the lighthouse and invent loving wives for phones that ring in the distance.

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