POEM BY PAULINA PAMPOUDIS
AT THE UNKNOWN SOLDIER
I run with my little hands open. The startled flock
of pigeons scatter around
(not truly panicking
they pretend to panic for the picture
for immortality)
I laugh (not truly my laugh
only my forward panic)
I wear my Sunday overcoat
unfamiliar collar
buttons covered by brown velvet
once belonged to my grandmother
then to Elli
then to me
stressed by the many reincarnations
alterations and moves
one of its small buttons still exist somewhere
people saunter here and there, dark faces
(it’s not their lives
they pretend to go for a walk)
at the far end the Unknown Soldier shines
his imperishable body before us in an arch form
ah, the marbles in the whiteness
of the day, the pigeons
at the Unknown Soldier
(have now become flesh-eaters)
Libros Libertad 