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.
The angel’s swift kick sent you reeling
Into the churchyard – it was your time
Though you yelped in surprise.
Was that you, slipping through the gate?
I couldn’t tell,
For the tears in my eyes.
exiles child 