Sunday Poem

Return to Sibiu

After a year of absence
I find my house strewn with feathers.

From the paintings, what first disappeared
was the sea.
Only a fish’s gasping mouth remained alive,
bubbling words.

Moon rays curled obediently
in my coffee cup
and an invisible bird measured invisible time
inside a clock where she’d built her nest.

“Georg,” she whispered.
“Philipp,” the echo sang back.
“Telemann,” I say aloud
while the record is spinning
and the violin strings
accompany your body
a world away.

Like an unseen orchestra:
                       Presto, say your fingers
                       Corsicana, answer my fingers
, say your eyes
                       Scherzo, answer my eyes
                       Gigue, say your patent-leather shoes
                       Polacca, answers my white dress
                       Menuet, answer our bodies, dancing in a ring
                                                on the perfect Street of the Bards . . .

by Lilliana Ursu
from Blackbird

Original Romanian: Here
Audio rendition: Here