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.

Laura Persoiu

Michael Curtis

Refugiu

1

Ei nu i-a luat mult sa inteleaga ca zambetul poate fi folosit oriunde in lume

ca sa impace si sa convinga.

Ea il exersa in fiecare dimineata,

potolindu-si copiii

spunandu-i sotului cum sa se poarte frumos,

Il trimitea inainte ca pe un sol in fiecare seara intr-o camera plina cu barbati care radeau,

l-a invatat sa castige bacsisuri la bar,

l-a lasat sa se rasfranga de pe buzele ei inspre pometii rigizi si maxilarul incordat

si-a colorat vorbele cu alb si rosu,

l-a folosit cu nepasare,

lasandu-l sa se joace cu o suvita de par,

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

pana cand nopti lacome

l-au sters de pe fata ei perfectionata

si i l-au furat din ochi

2

Asa ca in seara aceasta

toata lumina

este rapita din ochii ei

si zambetului

odinioara gasit cu usurinta

cand aprindeam lumanarea

ii ia zece secunde sa se alcatuiasca

in timp ce ea paseste inspre masa noastra dinspre camera din spate.

Vara ei lunga si piparata

s-a oprit in august

trudita precum iarna,

si acum ea trebuie sa mearga inainte

printr-un vis indestructibil

care nu aduce nici un fel de scapare

3

Ca un vis

pe care l-ai uitat pana dimineata

dar care nu te uita pe tine,

fiul tau a murit, tatal tau din nou pe moarte, cosmarul

care atarna greu in spatele ochilor

care se incetosaza ore in sir in ciuda soarelui de afara,

a luminii lampii sau a iubirii care se desteapta, asa ca vocea de la telefon din acea seara

nu poate fi crezuta, cartea postala

trimisa de pe plaja insulei din Tailanda,

data patata, probabil ca a fost cenzurata,

e-mail-ul care ii confirma sosirea

falsificat, si singurul lucru

care ar risipi indoiala

este un alt vis, amintit pe jumatate,

nedorit, involuntar, dar de data aceasta senin

4

Asemenea catamaranului usor ca un fulg

care colinda calare focurile fara numar stingand si aprinzand marea calda

intr-o dimineata

hotarata sa orbeasca ochii

si sa topeasca toate efectele cetii

in timp ce dezmortirea fugara a iahturilor

ies din ascunzatoare ca sa isi incerce sansele si sa astampere nelinistea nestavilita

fara vele in fata vantului ostenit

motoare inabusite insurubandu-se in soare

in timp ce echipajele plutesc intre vieti

5

Ca si noi in sarea vietii,

inotand in marea contorsionata

stand lungiti sub valuri de soare

imbratisand umbra sub pini,

curatati de forma, redusi la linie

asa ca recunoasterea dezvaluie taina,

si randunelele ciugulesc dune de randunele

si muste de nisip zboara prin nisip,

si noi urmam instructiunile

ascunse de paznicii granitelor

care doar le iau drept harti

pictate pe sticla transformata de moarte in argint viu,

si aici ne vom gasi calea

in timp ce familii de cate cinci pedaleaza pe hidrobiciclete

saltele gonflabile stau ascunse la amiaza

si ziua straluceste in radiatii,

vom naviga pe o cale printre nori

si o sa ne imaginam pe noi insine in lumina pana cand ne oprim la zambetele

care nu se dau la schimb decat pe zambete.