Bistra Nikolova

Poetry

My Beautiful Town

5.00(2 votes)

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I remember

5.00   (1 votes)

Short showers during the day followed by sunny spells. Temperatures between 3 and 9 degrees.

         Autumn enters our life suddenly. I close my eyes only for a moment and the moment’s gone. The warmth of the sun has faded and the cold is creeping slowly into my bones. However, it is nice to see the annual wind flipping yellow, red and brown leaves up and down. The ground, bare and vulnerably exposed before, is now trendy and dressed up. Another Pret-a-Porter and we are all invited.

 

Green sally up

And green sally down

         The season’s change makes my eyelids heavy in the morning and the wrinkled duvet becomes an addiction. I am trying to finish my dream, but it is gone.

 

Lift and squat

Gotta tear the ground

         My still, lifeless hand escapes the undersheet, confines and reaches for the intruder. My phone.

 

Hello, I reply, my poor vocal chords still dry from the rest.

         Children’s footsteps hurry after their parents’. A car motor is revving, ready to flea the reality.

 

I just wanted you to know . . .

         Light fabrics are replaced by cotton and wool. Open shoes upgrade to boots. When was the last time she had tied my shoelaces for me?

 

Your grandma has died. We are going to bury her today.

         The news from the other side of the world reaches me instantly. We can’t escape the progress of technology. Although it can’t happen without us, it rules us.

        

         Heavy drops of rain hit my window. The wind, still playing, tosses the drops either way, drawing an electrocardiogram of the upset sky.

 

Oh, Miss Lucy, dead and gone

Left me here to weep and moan.

         Cinnamon and ice sugar. My favourite biscuits. I can’t choose. Soft dough bending as the flower, lily with a walnut. I remember.

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