Summary
Those who left early with their glance focused on
the same spot: dead horses, bones, flags, tables, stones,
a lonely tree up on the peak and the immovable oath.
Evening liaisons, pseudonyms on cigarette packages,
the discussion left by the cane fields and the old woman
who yelled: passersby, fools, consumed by secret wounds,
nails, teeth, my little moon, the dream and the chair; take
care of the dead, she said, find a way to live their life. Don’t
fall asleep and forget. History is but a continuance. The man
by the front step reads the incomplete catalogue, the one
with the killed shoulder, who died under the trees. Small
animals gathered by the corner. One lonely boy, enchanted
by the imaginative stars. Ah, the beautiful, I’ll shout, the
brave, ah, the thoughtless. And the old woman under the
stairs, with the big cauldron in the night.
Manolis Aligizakis 