'Blue Borders' by Gabriella Garofalo
Why are you running so fast,
My April wind, you poor old sod-
You spooked or what?
But I’ve emptied my cupboards of stars and bliss
Ever since my family started shrieking at each other-
And you, yes you, believe you are
A time of life and flowers on the branches?
Well, it depends,
Missing leaves on the ground and stoned souls-
It's not a fairy tale, Father, my dissolving father,
Do not waste your time on marks and breadcrumbs,
And shattered hopes, just stop it, stop it now
Least you call them over,
To gather on the shores of the lake,
And you, my Prophet, do not straddle into the trees
A bastard dance partner strives to hide in the wilds,
So, bite your lips, soul, don’t say silence exists:
The androgynous, demise, loss, mix-ups,
Yes, they answer in silence,
Light and shadow, then they leave you alone,
As ever their hair is torn off, as ever they snap and frown,
Sheer poetry at full blast-
Do you want to get snared in the green?
Well, what about a clean-up of limbs and wounding skies,
Now, get your litter of bastard voices,
Desire fouled by Alzheimer,
A life binned in a bright jumble:
They’re coming over, the fiends from the foliage,
Trees ready to dissolve kiddos, young things,
Or an unbiased light that shrinks?
However, they got to a halt and gave you words,
Maybe the song that scatters the dead-
"At least they got it done" hisses the moon
Fed up with brushes, cleaners,
A set table and discarded tat:
The undergrowth coming home
To your anger, even your bites-
Soft girlish smiles, and long beards,
Yet they were men when the Son said
‘Grab the light and spread it everywhere”
As the pastry-maker does with a tasty cake-
The Father, on the other hand, wants us to be
A rock or the wind, a flower or many black stains
All over our tapestry-
I can’t get it, Father, nor can I accept it-
For our woods and waters, for our children
And grandchildren I just can get
The blue from the sky that’s gonna be
My ultimate abode, and so be it:
In the darkness while we're fast asleep
And birds drop dead from the sky-
Weapons shouting, of course, and then home.
All Rights. Gabriella Garofalo.
Born in Italy some decades ago, Gabriella Garofalo fell in love with the English language at six, started writing poems (in Italian) at the same age, and is the author of “Lo sguardo di Orfeo”; “L’inverno di vetro”; “Di altre stelle polari”; “Casa di erba”; “Blue Branches”; “ A Blue Soul”.