Image: © Ivana Erard
Author: Ivana Erard
A year ago I wrote you a poem,
in an absurd language you don’t speak
They were
happy sad words about who you
were and
what I want to remember you by
[warm tea, childlike stories,
laughter from the chest]
I could see those tiny cracks of the heart
When grief is approaching
Yesterday you asked me
[My head was on your lap;
you were
gently combing through my hair]
Polite, pause:
Excuse me,
what is your name?
I swallow a scream and I smile
‘Hello,
I am your Blood
and I am Stranger,
You gave me your eyes
and your curls
I have your stubborn
and your proverbs
I am the daughter
and the sister
Do you remember me?’
I see you running out of yourself,
fracture of the soul
and the
patient
trickling down of
sand
in the
hourglass.