OR WHEN, suddenly, one turns and looks at you as if you both came to the world for this reason; you don’t talk to each other however his glance again wonders towards the unanswerable from which the holy grace was painfully given to you and other times when you mould a pitcher in your wheel or you write a word in the sand separation already stands between you two and we now know where the man who gets up to leave will finally go, only that he started before us, like the mothers who, if darkness comes, it’s because they were so tired and fell asleep for a while.
Memory Pleats Since many forgotten things lurked in the pleats of memory we all knew the meaning of the forbidden fruit and we followed a blind man as if we needed an errorless guide at the start of the twenty-first century and the man with the severed arm hid behind the robin’s song as if to decipher our thoughts we often sat by our eastern balcony to enjoy the fresh breeze of the August evening as it was obvious that we couldn’t fool the children any longer
THE UNRECOGNIZABLE GIRL Who is the girl all dressed in white and walking down the hillside? As soon as this girl appeared the grass grew tender as flowers and spread its beauty and swayed its tips, in love, pleading not to be forgotten, begging to be stepped upon. Her lips are as pretty and as red as the flowers of the rosary and when dawn turns to daybreak it sends fresh raindrops to her and her glorious yellow hair shines against her breast and her eyes laugh, reflecting the light blue of the sky. Who is the girl who’s dressed in white and walks down the hillside?
II When our cigarettes get close to each other in the night and from their glowing ends you can discern two people who meet and separate the same way from one prison to another from one exile camp to another from one tent to another. Like cicadas when they can’t find trees they climb on telegraph poles we too spread roots wherever we can counting time in weeks, months, seasons. Now we all have little wooden boats which we place next to the books and we send to our relatives we have plates and water glasses — we have nothing, they stole everything from us, we’re left with mud in the mouth. We’re dressed with a soft skin that rips easily. ‘You should had seen Voula after the Liberation, now she’s worn out, work, childbirths, problems with the police” ‘George was preparing his papers to immigrate to the US when they killed him in Chalkida just before the referendum.’ ‘Dinos had it good, I mean, he left everything and now he’s very successful in Canada.’ ‘The floor was giving way under the chest and she struggled to level it. Leave it alone, I said to her, you waste your time. Then one Sunday morning the statuette fell and broke.’ ‘Smoke from the fertilisers plant hanged over the neighborhood, it choked you day and night, the cough wouldn’t abate with all the chemicals.’ And here we remain idle, we fight to survive we sign petitions for peace, mail our complaints we maintain a front line. Yet we don’t live the years, we just count them, we push them away to make sure they go by.
twenty-three The first genome of religious wonderment is coded in the DNA of man the magician gathers them around the fire are you, not the one with imagination, oh Leader? It’s someone else, there, you see him? With stories other than hunting he enchants them with stories that haven’t taken place yet about men who aren’t born yet about men who haven’t died yet about animals that talk hey, why are you waiting? He tells them about a gleaming god. Do you listen to him? Start talking before he usurps you. Hurry, or else work with Him. https://www.amazon.com/dp/192676370X
And he never noticed the face of the Regal leader who appeared from behind the eagle adorned main gate of the Palace. He saw him with the midgets and the mimes and the circus clowns and the performers and with the heroes of the circus. The King is brother to all he fights next to them he drinks and revels with them in this great immense Circus which celebrates the May festival. And he saw him on the chariot, dressed in Venetian attire and in the clothes of the Green charioteers he stood ready to march and the prophet shivered.
“I am sorry to hear that. I was hoping that they would see it the other way—that having Circle H horses at their sale would draw even more buyers. And the right kind of buyers.” “Afraid not. Guess that takes us to Plan B.” “Plan B?” Joel asked. “Exactly. The way that I see it, you really don’t have any option but run your own sale. The Ramage Ranch Sale is the last Saturday in September—has been going forever. Brings in big crowds from all over. Let’s do your sale on the Sunday right after. That way, people are here already and may want to stay for your sale.” “Would that work, Roy? Aren’t you concerned about upsetting the folks at the Ramage Ranch by working with me the day after their sale?” “As it happens, the Ramage people aren’t a client. Used to be. They bring in a crew from Denver to manage their sale now. It really hurt when they dropped us. Had been good clients for years, or so I thought.” “I guess that would work. But who would want to stay over and go to your auction yard for only . . .” “Hang on right there, cowboy. I learned a long time ago that there is only one place for a ranch horse sale. And that is on the ranch.” “Okay, I guess that makes sense, but who would want to come all of the way out here for only a dozen horses? Hardly seems worth it.” “Need to talk about that too: how do you feel about putting a few of your weanlings, yearlings, and two-year-olds in the sale?” “Well, I guess I could. But I need that young stock for future years.” “The way I see it, if we put a small offering of your younger horses in the auction in addition to the three-year-olds, you would really increase the appeal. Young stock might be what some folks need to stay one more day and attend your sale.” “Let me think about it, Roy. It sounds like I need my own sale, but I don’t know if I want to sell any of the younger horses.
Think Tank They analyze, calculate disagree on the number of casualties collateral damage enemies in a faraway land they think unlike the tank, which shoots four kilometres away to obliterate the structure of the faceless enemy hiding inside they think calculate the value of the projectile opposite the pounds of flesh inhabitants of the building they conclude it was all worthy of it*
I stare at the Saskatchewan landscape, mesmerized by a sense of space and feeling its impact on my whole being, this land where I was born, nurtured and raised. The view is endless, green fields of grain rolling into a flat horizon punctuated by clumps of farmstead trees and changing into a sky blending from the lightest blue at the horizon to a beautiful deep blue overhead. The rows of brilliant white cumulus clouds accentuate the blueness of the sky. A strange, melancholy feeling washes over me. I feel this way every time I face the prairie expanse of motionless earth and sky, and the feeling always leaves me cleaner and more peaceful. I have no identity crisis; I was born a farmer’s son and shall happily go through life with that tag and the learned values. These have served me well through my life’s journey—as an air force career officer, as a pilot to Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip and the Queen Mother and as the Canadian Forces Attaché in Czechoslovakia during the depths of the cold war. Then, on retirement, as a nursery grower; an airport manager in Langley; a fascinated student and backroom participant in national politics, watching the politicians posture—many confusing their parties’ agenda with the needs of the nation, and as an observer of the strengths and weaknesses ofmy fellowman.And seeing in them a mirror image of my own strengths and shortcomings. My upbringing has armed me with resourcefulness and an ability to separate the seed from the chaff. I have used these qualities to find solutions to life’s challenges. Hopefully these will continue to serve me in this world. As for the next, being an optimist helps.
Morning Wake Up My love, I can endure everything away from you. One I can’t: waking up next to your vacant pillow. It’s hard to get used to coming back home alone at night but the morning wake up is unbearable. I’m truthful to you I open my eyes and shut them right away. I don’t want to wake up. I can’t endure to stretch my arm on the empty side of the bed. The bathroom misses the sounds of you shaving and the fragrance of your after shave. I cover myself to the head with the bed coverings and wish light wouldn’t come, time won’t come when I’ll have to go down to the kitchen to make coffee. In the morning! The breakfast I prepared for you and the coffee we had together. When I took you to the garage door and kissed you good morning. When I looked at you as you drove the car away. The day that has no reason to commence, no expectation for your return at night. Every day from now on. Day after day until I get used to it.
Manolis Aligizakis 