Katerina Katsiri

xxxx

Wounds


I grasp the morning by its roots. 

Sitting up in an unmade bed,

sunlight turning the room into

iron, even mother would be

deeply moved, would be

impressed by the situation

unfolding. 


You swim oceans in your sleep.

Every wave quenches your thirst.

A singular enigma, the sea,

and the clarity you lived by

in order to express it.  I don't mind

anymore your death, what I mind

is the absence of your smile.

The negation of your salt-swept

and winsome heart.


                    Lisa Zaran