THE GATE
Excerpt XXI
The flower shop girl sprays the carnations. I’ve waited
all week long.
I communicate with the nails. I have no phone.
The hard of hearing man stoops close to my mouth, puts
his stethoscope on my chest, to listen to my voice;
I disguise it so he can’t listen to my silence deep inside;
I hold my breath; I breathe slowly to give rhythm to
my pulse; this is truly the rhythm; I walk along with
history; sometimes ahead of it; the world is good; I
don’t sleep for too long; I sit by the window after
midnight and I see the shadows of the vacant traffic
cop stands, the blood as it changes colour on
the sidewalk, especially to see the wild, hungry,
beautiful cats ripping the green bags outside the closed
apartment buildings with the glass doors, with
the moon divided into five pieces; one of these glass
pieces is stuck vertically deep into the brown floor
planks of the caretaker’s desk.
Manolis Aligizakis 