Listener. Lemn SissayЧитать онлайн книгу.
your heart, mine won’t beat but burn
Delete Delete Delete Return.
It isn’t what’s said, it’s what’s not said
What says it all.
The day you brought it home
I’ll never forget.
It was only seven foot tall then.
An elephant! I said.
Put it in the back yard.
Fine, you said, Fine!
And disgruntled
Tied it to the washing line.
As you slept I’d pull back the curtains
Stand by the window and watch it.
A dark shadow. An iceberg. A hump filled the back yard,
Rising and falling with each deep gentle snore.
Breakfasts were never the same again.
The elephant took up all the space
And had no table manners whatsoever,
Although it was useful for the washing-up.
Whenever I broached the subject
You’d rant and rave and fume,
Say I was going crazy, There is no elephant in the room.
But the saddest thing is not the crockery it smashed
Nor the walls it demolished, of our past.
It wasn’t its footsteps stamped all over our home,
The cracked floorboards or its wont to roam.
It was the lie established after I said, It’s there.
For years you looked at me and said, Where, dear, where?
Each cloud wants to be a storm
My tap water wants to be a river
Each match wants to be an explosive
Each reflection wants to be real
Each joker wants to be a comedian
Each breeze wants to be a hurricane
Each drizzled rain wants to be torrential
Each laugh from the throat wants to burst from the belly
Each yawn wants to hug the sky
Each kiss wants to penetrate
Each handshake wants to be a warm embrace.
Don’t you see how close we are to crashes and confusion,
Tempests and terror, mayhem and madness,
and all things out of control?
Each melting ice cube wants to be a glacier
Each goodbye wants to be the smooth stroke of a forehead
Each cry wants to be a scream
Each carefully pressed suit wants to be creased
Each midnight frost wants to be a snow drift
Each mother wants to be a friend
Each night-time wants to strangle the day
Each wave wants to be tidal
Each subtext wants to be a title
Each winter wants to be the big freeze
Each summer wants to be a drought
Each polite disagreement wants to be a vicious denial
Each diplomatic smile wants to be a one-fingered tribute
to tact.
Don’t you see how close we are to crashes and confusion,
Tempests and terror, mayhem and madness,
and all things out of control?
Keep telling yourself.
You’ve got it covered.
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