June 11, 2017 § 2 Comments


Again sometimes I feel wiser.
I feel as if I knew why
these long evenings in June
are so full of Septembers.

And why when we sleep
in someone’s loving arms,
Death will look away
for a couple of hours.

Mondays I am never mad
at other people because
they must go to work too.
That’s how work pays off.

(But I won’t sign that
even if you forced me.)

As my memory declines
I do fear sudden flashbacks:
hands, moons, bottles of milk.
They strike me like lightening.

This afternoon, for instance, I saw
a three-year-old daring a high ladder;
remembered how I had to look away
and not always run to help.


§ 2 Responses to Iftar

  • johnsandel says:

    This is one of your recent best, I think. It’s almost cinematic—the stanzas like frames, pausing at the shutter of your attention and moving on. All film is time-travel.


    • Magda Kapa says:

      Thank you, John. I really appreciate you finding it cinematic, for indeed, not only images in words, but also words in images inspire me. Therefore photography is my other artistic door and therefore I love the movies and used to write scripts too. Thank you for all your readings here and elsewhere!


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You are currently reading Iftar at I was not born in English.


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