ANNE STEWART

Melting into the Motorway on the Inside Lane

It was the beauty of it stopped me
from making the turn.

Coming home was an easy goal,
but they leapt at me.

Surprising as the ridges a thumbnail finds
on the tips of fingers,

they stooped over me, looking back at me;
the grey and blue that is not blue.

Never grey or white with ludicrous edges.
Like yourself.

No photograph can capture the feel of water
in air on the fine bone of a cheek.

The windscreen swallowed itself in awe of them
and I was hungry for paint;

ravenous – for water colour,
or a spade to dig them out.

I have told you I find myself unable to eat,
again, have no stomach for destruction.

Yet you blather for entire moments
about why the remote is yours;

why you will not go out.
Sometimes, you listen.

When the sun joined them,
soaking the sky to a thin-blood wash,

it was then, I melted.
Dropped to fifty in the slow lane.

The tears came soft and wise
as a heart pausing for grief.

I’ll call. Give me a day or two.
A month, if it goes slow enough.

Alina Rosu

Anne Stewart
 

Topindu-ma pe autostrada pe prima banda


Frumusetea momentului a fost cea
care m-a impiedicat sa virez.

Intoarcerea acasa era un tel usor,
dar ele mi-au sarit in fata.

Surprinzatoare ca si cutele care se simt sub unghie
Pe varfurile degetelor,

Ele s-au aplecat asupra-mi, uitandu-se catre mine;
Griul si albastrul care nu e albastru.

Niciodata gri sau alb pe marginile ridicole.
Ca tine insuti.

Nicio fotografie nu poate surprinde atingerea apei
In aer pe linia fina a pometilor.

Parbrizul s-a infiorat la vederea lor
iar eu eram avida dupa vopseluri;

ravnind sa am acuarele,
sau o cazma sa le scot la lumina.

Ti-am spus ca ma nu simt in stare sa mananc,
Stomacul meu nu mai poate digera distrugerea.

Totusi tu trancanesti intr-una
De ce telecomanda este a ta;

De ce nu vrei sa iesi in oras.
Uneori, mai si asculti.

Cand soarele li s-a alaturat,
Inmuind cerul intr-o acuarela rosiatica,

Atunci a fost clipa cand m-am topit.
Am incetinit pana la cincizeci pe prima banda.

Lacrimile au tasnit domol si intelept
Ca o inima ce sta de durere.

O sa sun. Lasa-mi ragaz o zi sau doua.
O luna, daca merge foarte incet.