I’ve got a flock of sparrows inside me.
They flap their wings all the time.
They chirp and cackle.
They find life amusing.
I tell them to stop, because I can’t hear myself.
They say I could benefit from staying silent
from time to time.
I tell them I can’t sleep because of them.
They say I should get up and get this thing done already.
So, here I am.
And now, that I need them the most
they have fallen asleep,
and I am here all by myself,
and I am no longer sleepy.
They named me after my grandmother,
but they shortened her name for me,
turned it into a cute little nickname
with that tame voiceless sibilant.
They also named me after
my mother’s favourite book character
with whom I have nothing in common,
except for synesthesia
and the fact that I once tried to learn
how to knit.
On the other hand, I am quite similar
to my grandmother.
Maybe the fact that she brought me up
has something to do with that.
We don’t let children choose their own name.
I am not sure if that is good or bad.
I wanted to be called Tinkerbell.
I liked the sound
and I really needed those wings.
I love names that mean something important.
For years I thought my name had no meaning.
Now I know it has the same root
as Nativity.
Not bad, that.
If I was choosing a name for myself,
I think I would go with something sonorous,
something long and slightly old-fashioned,
I would try each sound out loud
to see if it suits me.
This would surely be time-consuming.
and, to tell you the truth,
I have grown fond of the name I am wearing.
I like the way it doesn’t quite define me
or explain me,
yet it is there for me to use
and call mine.
GloPoWriMo Day 21
There was a cherry tree
in our garden.
One summer it held a small owl.
I was still awake when the owl called.
I had been told that owls brought bad luck.
I chose not to believe it.
It took me a while to notice
there were two of them.
to hear the overlapping calls,
one voice answering the other
across the dark.
I watched them hunt together in the evenings.
This is what love looks like, I thought.
The next year the tree was gone.
It had been dying, they said.
The owls moved to the oak next door.
I could still hear them.
This is what forever is like, I thought.
We went back every summer.
Time seemed to stand still.
Then cracks appeared in the walls.
More trees went.
Not the neighbour's oak.
It grew strong and steady,
still holding the owls in its crown.
Yarrow
Common yarrow signifies war.
The name has the same root as “yellow”.
It is also known as nosebleed.
Some call it soldier’s woundwort.
Over here we call it the outlaw grass,
for, it was the flower of outlaws and rebels.
Soldiers once marched with yarrows in their bags.
If you are wounded, yarrow can heal you.
It helps with heartburn and stomach upsets.
It was named after Achilles,
who was a soldier in his own right.
It is also known as devil’s nettle.
They say the devil can use it to curse you.
In witchcraft, it wards off evil spirits.
In large doses, it is psychoactive.
Do not confuse it with poison hemlock.
It is native of Northern Greece and the Balkans.
It has a pleasant medicinal smell.
Herbalists use it as pillow stuffing.
It can help you sleep and bring pleasant dreams.
Yarrow grows freely behind my house.
I don’t suppose I know where I am going.
It is not wise to presume I know anything at this stage.
I follow the shape this poem is tracing.
I do whatever I have to do
to get to the end of the page.
"I was killed by a word too strong."
Branko Miljković
That words can wound you,
trap you and betray you,
weigh you down,
like a rock around your neck.
trip you,
burn your tongue,
misplace you.
mislead you,
make you lose yourself,
hit you like a rock,
slap you in the face,
words poorly chosen,
too strong, too many,
shouted, or whispered like a curse.
She scares herself every day, she says.
Every morning she wears a different face.
Sometimes she is a monster,
wild and dangerous.
She takes lives
and destroys crops.
Sometimes she is a thin silver snake,
too weak to be feared.
And then there are days when she is a ghost,
an empty bed,
dry.
And on some days, when things are too much,
she sinks inward and disappears.
She hides inside her underground cave
with open domes and draughty corridors.
Her walls there are constantly eroded.
That’s what happens when you build your place
out of mud and anger.
