cyclamen numbersA Poem by Lilly Negoi
window grins, black and liquid with snowy night,
throwing back at me the pathetic philosophy
of a much too anemic light-bulb -
the reading lamp stands straight,
like a last redoubt of volition
against the darkness dancing outside.
light flows like a perfect c minor,
running its arpeggio over the objects inside the room
and over the book waiting patiently
to feast on my attention and on my mind.
that book…is an orphan book.
i adopted it the other day.
whoever left it on that bench in the park
must’ve hoped for a good soul to provide it with shelter.
or maybe they simply forgot it…
anyway, that book…came to me like all my things…
you see, i find things.
i find them and i label them, with numbers,
with a marker.
a cyclamen marker.
that was the first thing i ever found.
i found boxes of all sorts, coins, a watch,
a woolen shawl
(that one i couldn’t label…),
a flower pot with a weird tree in it
(a friend said it’s a bonsai -
don’t know what those are, it looks like a malformed child to me…),
i even found a cat once…
but that one licked itself
until the cyclamen number was gone from its fur.
that book is my latest found thing -
cat purrs right next to it.
night strives to melt the window
and i gaze idly at the book’s reflection -
makes me wonder if i, at my turn, will ever be found too …
© 2011 Lilly Negoi
Shelved in 2 LibrariesAdded on December 22, 2011
Last Updated on December 22, 2011
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