I cried on the metro

because I was

in everybody’s way

aggressive bumps

looks, instructions

to move, moving

my bag, even my bag

became the silent

enemy — a sign

confirming a corporate

morning theory:

it’s me against them

I cried on the metro

because I am

perhaps still a bit

idealistic and naive

but I’ll take the tears

so soft on my cheek

instead of letting

my heart turn to stone

I cried on the metro

because I know

my body needs

to release the energy

and I choose not to

direct it like a weapon

that would turn us into

enemies on the lines

of this world

I cried on the metro

because I’m strong

chin up, least amount

of blinking, preferably

laying down, index finger

ready to point and trace

the glistening appearances

of celestial waste

addicting mili seconds

in between minutes

of nothing

of being

I counted twenty seven

that night in the Italian Alps

and in life? birth, first steps,

words, friendships, trips, degrees

they move swiftly and light up

the sky of our life

upon friction with the atmosphere

of the mundane

theatre of momentary thrills

what will you do in the in between?

it was the sun

a creative force

painting with my house

plants, spreading the

shimmering hellos

through a self-made window

in front of my slowly

opening eyes

a moment of poetry


evening classes with

young hungry minds

reverberating waves

the sea, the bells

you remembered me

there, is peace a place

a person, a movement of fabric

imprinted on all senses

I can never know who

you remembered — the smiling me

the twirling, the melancholy

or perhaps the one with purple

fingers among the blueberry bushes

the water is calm now

your mind listens, lets go

autumn came early — merciless thief

of green green fields

bear shoulders, wine on the shore

toes doodling in the warm sand

I prefer to think seasons store it all

only to regift us

at nature’s perfect time in full

and when the gusts of wind

awaken waves of memories —

we appear.

in a ceilidh dance

on top of Monte Crostis

clouds twirl as air

carries the joy of the day

first pair second and another

join a vivacious rhythm

into a soft unity

suspended above the spectators

stuck on the peak

as far as they can go

reaching higher only if

they sway to the images

forming, cumulating

in liberty and celebration

of their place in this world

what are clouds?

since they don’t ask

existential questions — I will

but I cannot remember

what they taught me in school

I’ll have to look it up

I wish it was that easy

to find the answers

about the human kind

in the basin of time

dipping in and out

moments of familiar

shapes tease my mind

(wait a second?)

something is found

more so, confirmed

materialized intimations

oh, the thrill in the veins

my inner detective

of obscure destiny feels!

from time to time

in life

one receives a gift of

observing the storm

behind a mountain

across the valley

in safety in full sun

drawing conclusions

for future from past

how and what to be to do

when it is one’s body

that receives the rain

pushed by strong winds

enveloped in dark clouds

that year I finally got

a place by myself

and a New Yorker subscription

was a year I thought

pragmatism in love

isn’t tragic and I might

want to have a child

and that being wild

is contextual

I knew it first as a lullaby

to which I’d drift into dreams

at night, dreams, later, for a life

hopeful, adventurous

relevant and comforting

lyrics, melancholy melody

for a family always

on the move, it seemed

I know it now as a hymn

to which you make sense

of each step, your life

though you’ve been walking

the shores and beaches of

the same lake for the past

fifteen years, you collect your

fellow pilgrims, wooden, stiff

awaiting the same awakening

over Jordan, over home

I see my father

Sonia Blank

in between the wonder and the welcome

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