A Pain in the Chest
Let his ears ring,
The good old brother.
How we loved him!
The trouble is ours;
Someone else’s?
Never!
Oh the dead-end!
Oh lofty night—
Let your ears ring!
We love you!
Otherwise,
We wouldn't have waited all this way
The four-leaf clover wouldn't have waited
Otherwise, joy
Wouldn’t have wrapped around us from all sides
Wouldn’t have torn through our chests.
A cold, fresh night ends.
The sky lightens.
Morning rise like a clean quilt
And it is now
A white weasel.
Her name
Terracotta-roofed houses,
Chattering insects,
And winter games
Left all alone.
On helpless evenings
Searching for home,
She was the sorrow
Of a joyful laugh
Walking alone.
She could not step through her own door,
She remained
Peculiar to herself.
Her eyes,
Her knotted hands,
Knotted hands,
Knotted like pitted fabric—
Her name
Was what she was ashamed of.