Michael Curtis

Safe Harbour

1

She learned it early, that smile,

used the world over

to placate and to persuade.

She exercised it each morning,

quietened her children,

schooled her husband to good behaviour,

sent it before her each evening

into a room of laughing men,

taught it to earn tips at the bar,

let it spread from her mouth

to raised cheeks and tightened jaw,

coloured her talk with whites and reds,

employed it carelessly,

allowed it to play with a strand of hair,

look twice at the stranger at the corner table,

until insatiable nights

wiped it from her perfected face

and stole it from her eyes

2

So tonight

all the light

is robbed from her eyes

and the smile

once found with ease

when lighting our candle

takes ten seconds to compose

as she walks to our table

from the back room.

Her long peppered summer

has fetched up in August

weary as winter,

and now she must keep on walking

through an unbreakable dream

that brings no escaping

3

Like the dream

you’ve forgotten by morning

but doesn’t forget you,

your son dead, your father dying again,

the nightmare

that lies heavy behind eyes

that cloud for hours despite sunshine,

lamplight or even awakened love,

so the voice on the phone that evening

cannot be believed, the postcard

from the island beach in Thailand,

date smudged, must have been censored,

the e-mail confirming her arrival

forged, and the only thing

that can burn off the doubt

is another half-remembered dream,

unwilled, involuntary, but this time light

4

As the weightless catamaran

that straddles the countless fires

extinguishing and lighting the warm sea

on a risen morning

resolved to dazzle eyes

and burn off all effects of clouds

while the brief wakes of yachts

break cover to take their chance

and slake untethered restlessness

unsheeted at the exhausted wind

muffled engines screwing to the sun

as crews float between lives

5

Like us upon the salt of life,

swimming on the writhing sea

bathing in the showered sun

hugging shade beneath the pines,

purged of form, reduced to line

so recognition sheds disguise,

and sparrows peck at sparrow dunes

and sand flies fly across the sand,

and we follow the directions

concealed from the border guards

who only mistake them for maps

painted on glass quicksilvered by death,

and here we’ll find our way

while pedalos pedal families of five

lilos lie low in the afternoon

and the day glows in dayglows,

navigate a route through clouds

and imagine ourselves to light

until we settle to the smiles

that trade in nothing but themselves.

Silvia Niculae

Michael Curtis

Portul ferit

1

Ea a invatat devreme ca zambetul

este folosit in toata lumea

pentru a aplana si a convinge.

Il exersa in fiecare dimineata,

isi linistea copiii,

si isi facea sotul sa se poarte bine.

il trimitea inaintea ei in fiecare seara

intr-o camera plina de barbati care rad,

l-a invatat sa castige bacsisul de la bar,

l-a invatat sa se largeasca de la gura

pana obrajii inaltati si maxilarul strans, colorandu-i vorbele cu alb si rosu,

il folosea fara grija,

il lasa sa se joace cu o suvita din parul ei,

sa se uite de doua ori la strainul de la masa din colt,

pana cand nopti insatiabile

i l-au sters de pe fata ei perfectionata

si i l-au risipit din ochi

2

Asa ca in seara asta

toata lumina

i-a fost furata din ochi

si zambetul

pe care odata il regasea usor

cand aprindea lumanarea noastra

acum ii lua zece secunde sa apara

cand venea la masa noastra

din camera din spate.

Vara ei lunga si fierbinte

se terminase in august

obositoare ca iarna,

si acum trebuie sa continue sa treaca

printr-un vis ce nu se poate desface,

ce nu aduce nici o salvare

3

Precum visul

pe care l-ai uitat pana dimineata

dar care nu te uita,

fiul tau mort, pe tatal tau ce moare din nou cosmarul

care se afla in spatele ochilor

ce se incetoseaza ore intregi in ciuda soarelui, a lampii sau chiar in ciuda dragostei renascute,

astfel incat vocea de la telefon din acea seara

e incredibila, cartea postala

de pe plaja dintr-o insula a Thailandei,

cu data patata, trebuie sa fi fost cenzurate, e-mail-ul ce-i confirma venirea

falsificat, si singurul lucru

care poate sa stearga indoiala

este un alt vis pe jumatate amintit,

nedorit, involuntar, dar de data acesta usor

4

In vreme ce catamaran-ul

trece ca un fulg printre nenumarate focuri stingand si luminand marea calda

intr-o altfel de dimineata

hotari sa uimeasca privirile

si sa stearga toate urmarile norilor

in timp ce scurtele aparitii ale yacht-urilor

ies la iveală sa-si incerce norocul

si potolesc agitaţia nestavilita

neacoperite in fata vantului obosit

motoarele inabusite se invart in soare

in vreme ce echipajele plutesc intre diverse destine

5

Asa cum suntem si noi in ceea ce priveste sarea vietii,

inotand in marea unduitoare

scaldandu-ne in soarele cu stropi

imbratisand umbra din spatele pinilor,

curatata de forma, redusa la o linie

astfel incat recunoasterea amplifica misterul

si vrabiile ciugulesc din dunelor

lor si mustele de nisip zboara deasupra nisipului,

si le putem urmari directiile

ascunse de graniceri

care le iau doar drept harti

pictate pe sticla transformata de catre moarte in argint viu,

si aici ne vom gasi drumul

in timp ce familii cu cinci membri pedaleaza la hidro biciclete

saltele gonflabile lenevesc dupa-amiaza

si ziua straluceste cu stralucirea ei,

navigam pe un drum printre nori

si ne imaginam ca aducem lumina

pana cand ne multumim cu zambetele

care nu ne aduc nimic in schimb decat pe ele insele.