PunchMag

Our City, the Beautiful and other poems

 Our City, the Beautiful and other poems
Six poems by the Bucharest-based poet, translator, editor and teacher as part of World Poetry/Prose Portfolio [WPP], curated by poet Sudeep Sen  

Our City, the Beautiful


Our city, the beautiful,
she has guided tours
in seven thousand languages
not including the dead ones

she has the best salesmen of universal
remote controls who stand on the corner
yelling “you’re the reason I’m here”
and the nice people understand both meanings

she has all the beauty products
that can be real game changers
but every morning she
#justwokeuplikethis

effortlessly and at no cost to the taxpayer
our city, the beautiful, managed
to recycle all the garbage on the streets
into thoughts and memories of her


I Guess I Want to Read Some Books


I want
to read
some books
where
it says
I can
go nuts can
get in cars
can
run away
from everything

I don’t have a car




I Look Back (in Five Movements)


i.
I look back to see
if I can see in the end
what happened to me

and I can clearly see
I looked back

ii.
not yet a seed
I don’t push my legs
into the earth and become

but I ask it to put me back
where it found me

iii.
the large things
enlarge and like
a murmuration of starlings

life takes many other forms though
it’s still just murmuring of starlings

iv.
the small things rain down
in shiny wrappers from the piñata of life
and hide forever in a dewy field

everything glittering with the intensity
of an everlasting hallucination

v.
I look back in the end
to find meaning in life
backmasked like an embarrassment

from inside my sealed jar
floating through meaningless space


Bigfoot


these
eyes
once
glimpsed
a
being
through
the
trees
mind
thinks
it
was
me
heart
isn’t
for
knowing


Remember


when
you wake up
and feel
like you’re dying
remember
the girl
at the butcher’s
who used to
ask you
still not smiling?

remember
the girl
who used to
call you
and offer
to bring you soup
even though
she’d dialed
the wrong
number

when
you feel
like you’re dying
you may
be dying
remember
quick
anything


End Game


I
quit
writing
I
stand
in
church
doors
tell
old
women
I’m
nice

Comments


*Comments will be moderated