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.

Alexandra Sarbu

Anne Stewart
 

Topindu-ma pe autostrada pe banda intai


Frumusetea ei nu m-a lasat
sa intorc.

Venitul acasa a fost o tinta usoara,
dar ele au sarit inspre mine.

Surprinzatoare ca striatiile pe care unghia le gaseste
in varful degetelor,

S-au aplecat peste mine, privindu-ma si ele;
griul si albastrul ce nu este albastru.

Niciodata gri sau alb cu margini ridicole.
Ca si tine.

Nicio fotografie nu poate surprinde senzatia apei
in aer pe osul neted al obrazului.

Parbrizul s-a evaporat venerandu-le
si eu eram avida dupa vopsea;

flamanda – dupa acuarele,
sau o cazma ca sa sap dupa ele.

Ti-am spus ca nu sunt in stare sa mananc,
din nou, stomacul meu nu digera distrugerea.

Si totusi, tu ma cicalesti tot timpul
spunandu-mi ca telecomanda e a ta;

ca nu vrei sa iesim.
Cateodata, ma asculti.

Cand soarele li s-a alaturat,
imbiband cerul intr-o nuanta sangerie,

atunci m-am topit.
Am redus viteza la cincizeci pe banda intai.

Lacrimile au aparut moi si intelepte
ca o inima intr-un rastimp de durere.

O sa te sun. Da-mi ragaz o zi sau doua.
O luna, daca merge indeajuns de incet.