Unfamiliar Place
Peter emigrated to the Orient, and Alex to the West.
We haven’t heard how they have been doing. We stayed
here at this crossroads. We took care of the place,
put up signs and wrote names. Then the wind blew
down the signs. Men pass with carriages loaded with
apples, grapes, or oranges. They ask: “Is this the way
to Sparta? Is this the way to Argos?” We shake our heads
as if saying “yes” so we won’t point out that we’ve forgotten
over the years, we blow our smoke through our nostrils
as if we burn inside, what fire and what knowledge?
Yet we survive we even manage to get by; sometimes
we even smile or clean our front teeth with our nails,
and we look as if we know something we never knew.
And perhaps what we didn’t disclose keeps us still
waiting for the hour of disclosure.
Manolis Aligizakis 