Public Republic

Aksinia Mihailova

Photo: bslmmrs

When you leave
pieces of yourself
in the bodies of other women
and try desperately
to find yourself
complete
in the words,
I see our home
like a ghost boat
floating against the current
of the river;
but the boatman is not there
and the night is falling
I recollect only his voice
that calls me,
enchants me
and frightens me.

Through the walls
of our home
on the floor
damp towels
and scattered bed sheets

…………………………………………….

mammy,
could you make for me
one more paper boat!

I wish they wouldn’t talk one day

still of this world
though at the lowest point of the sky

her thin wrist
resting on the drawer full of knives
bridges of swollen veins
where her dreams
travel at night

with every innocuous cut on the skin
one dream drains away in microscopic curdles
writing it down on a piece of paper
and slipping it into the jewelry box –
where she keeps her fears

of the lowest point of the sky