Poem by Kiki Dimoula


The post-man

carrying my hope in his steps

brought an envelope

with your silence.

My name was written on it with forgetfulness.

My address in an inexistent street.

However the post-man discovered it

retreating on my face

gazing the windows that stooped with me

to read my hands

that were already preparing an answer.

I’ll open it with my patience

and with my sadness

I’ll copy your unwritten words.

I’ll answer tomorrow

and I’ll send you my picture.

I’ll place some wilted clover on my lapel

with the locket of a crash

engraved in the chest

and I’ll hang on my ears — think of it —

your silence.