Sunday, May 17, 2015

I am here for something else

I am not home for Christmas
I am here for something else
While he boils water in the kettle
And she irons his shirt
I watch a movie about ingredients
That need to be filled
Into the pallets of a museum corner

In the other room she counts her coins
Into that greenish woolen sock 
Under the pillow
A lifetime of savings
That belonged to him, too
But he left early, she said
He always wanted to go to Vienna

Maybe he finally made it
It’s only one overnight drive
Too far when one is almost dead
Maybe she will exchange it
For a ticket, she thinks
And her hands full of gold
Sink into her lap

It is time for candles
Her wax drops into his

The child is crying
She knows, all she ever asked for
Can be traced in that boy’s
Beating heart
So tiny, it doesn’t even know yet
What it means to live and
What it means
To be dying