Hedy Habra

Origin

    After The Theory of Light by Ulla Gmeiner 

 

I have no name, no face, no age. I have lost track of my birthplace: a

grain of sand blown by the slightest breeze, I’ve crossed continents

and shores, flown over dunes and quarries, known the brush of

leaves and grass, even rested in ponds after being swept by crested

tides, always unseen, but never lonely, my edges softened by rubbing

against ruby, garnet, coral, quartz, shells, endlessly smoothing each

other’s skin, surviving the heat of scorching sun drowning in carmine

sea until that last sacrifice on the pyre where our blood melts into

layers and layers of crimson petals opening up in their last frozen

gesture. Is anyone aware that I am forever prisoner in that translucent

flower?

 

First published by The Smoking Poet

From Under Brushstrokes (Press 53 2015)

Phoenician Twilight

            After Canary by Knud Merrild

  

The nuptials of sun and moon, a ritual I yearned to witness for so

long, sailing aimlessly, watching sunset after sunset, my beard growing

grayer, and now that I’m finally near the shores of Tyre and Sidon,

where dice were once thrown under a full moon, where wreaths of

incense ascended and mingled with the winds of heaven to lead us

safely, can I trust what my eyes are seeing? Are the sun and moon

really sinking side by side into the darkening waters, or is it my boat,

heavier with its load of gold and silver coins, each a sun and a moon,

replete with amber, spices and royal purple, riches collected from

countless counters, weighing more every minute like my falling

eyelids.

 

First published by Parting Gifts

From Under Brushstrokes (Press 53 2015)