Comrades

They remind me I'm breakable.

That I had ten months of allergies and 

occasional fever because 

you and I had an argument once,

that I couldn't smile for weeks,

that I lost a language because

after you leaving

why would I ever speak again,
who would I talk to?

That I fell down twice and

sprained one foot at a time
in forty days last year,

because you're in town,

and it's just a matter of hours.
We attract each other, they say.
They fear for me, my comrades.

Shoelaces

I learned you without my hands,
in the dark, by listening to your breathing,
by making friends with your ghosts.

Unaware of the
terrible complications of being tough,
you surround yourself with silence and walls.

But you held my hand once,
you tied my shoelaces once.
I know you have a heart.

I've seen it once, for thirty seconds.

Lesser and lesser

The first man who left
is in town for a month
and he brings color
back to sunflowers.

It's summer again,
last time we saw each other
there were so many
lights,
butterflies,
strangers,
I couldn't speak,
he must have noticed.
I've been speaking lesser and lesser.

I like saying things in poems
which some believe to be about nobody
but happen to be about people
who come and go because
life is like this
and just a few close observers
can tell.

The first man who left is in town,
we have changed considerably
over the course of the past five years.

I've been speaking lesser and lesser.

Handwork

Pins, needle and thread
to embroider a heart to this chest.

Measure the height and the width
calculate the number of stitches

to guarantee you will cover
the entire motif.

make them tight enough
it won't fall off,

but not so stiff
it can't beat.

(image by Visceral)

Shared with Marian's challenge over at The Imaginary Garden

Oware

I beat my sister at Oware today
in two hours of nearly untroubled silence.

As children,
we didn't see eye to eye often.

She insisted our dolls should have
perfectly brushed straight hair.
I learned to use scissors.

She wanted to sleep on the top bed.
I claimed it first!

I learned how to use a lighter.
She got burned.

We were both afraid of the dark.
I came up with a monster under the bed.
[we called it 'Mrs. Wig']

As children,
we were regularly warned by the father

we wouldn't be let into the world
if we didn't make peace with each other.

We were grounded for years,
I remember.

I complain about her sluggishness,
she still makes fun of my math.

(From left to right: Daniela, me and Kelle)

N.B.: 

• There's a one-year age difference between Kelle and me, this poem is for/about her.
• Oware is an abstract strategy game among the bigger Mancala family of board games. They say you can't be selfish if you play Oware. I was incredibly selfish as child. Thank God I also had sisters growing up.
• Oware works with two sacred principles: you must sow if you want to reap and you must learn to give if you want to receive.