About Mikels Skele

Poet. Explainer. Foreigner-at-large.

In the unscrubbed mirror: A Kurzeme meadow

I remember
Your summer dress
Billowing fragrances
Of untold yearning
Long into the night

These flowers, too,
Have long since passed.

Like souls at the sorting gate,
Searching for keys
To waken the ghosts imprisoned within,
They call out to be deciphered.
Can you make it out?

Two names, no longer legible,
Then, “Forever.”

And you, my heart,
Would you pass these aching hills
Along a path like this,
Hurrying into the trees ahead?

Who knows what ancient burdens
Lie buried there.

This is the first of a series of short poems inspired by photographs I have taken over the years in Latvia.

Zigrida, your arms
Used to embrace me.
Now you watch
From your upstairs window
As I pass below,
As the long parade
Passes below.

In your dream,
Things are surely different.

It’s easy for you,
A few winters’ discontent,
A bad summer
Here or there

Was that a tragic
Bend of history
You just navigated?
Those graveyards
Groaning with corpses,
Will soon be paved over.

Those shrieks will die away
Like the souls who bled them.
Even those eyes,
Those eyes, you won’t remember.

Do you find it difficult
To contemplate
The misery of your love,
My love?

You will die.
I will not.