Judi Benson

And Still the Stones
 

The house shrinks and stretches,
sighs at night creaking the floorboards,
top of the house, crow's nest,
light and air, walls bare.
Slice of heaven we agreed,
lazy rocking evenings,
day's work done, ascending
to meet the sun, watch it go down
in a smother of clouds.
Some laws of nature still persist.
Sod's law, the rain on your parade,
your barbecue, wedding, laundry,
deck chair, bacci, papers.
The minutiae of it all. Things.
What are they without people
but relics to be studied by archaeologists.
A ribbon surviving flesh, faint lavender.
A shank of auburn hair without a head.
Gallstones in a jar, his and hers.
Note: his were bigger than his mum's.
Curiosities to be puzzled over
trying to put it all together. What sense?
Yes, I still take stones
to your grave site to confuse them.
Pink toned, blue grey, granite.
Stones from Alderney, Carteret, Cromer,
Norwich, Aldeburgh, Duluth, Dartmoor, Leide,
a cobblestone from Praha
that I'd like to think Mozart stubbed his toe on,
that tripped Kafka, who swore as I did,
the third time round. Round and round,
lost amongst the ever changing streets.

Andreea Hadambu

Judi Benson
 

Si totusi, pietrele

Contururile casei se strang si apoi se largesc,
ofteaza noaptea facand sa scartaie podelele,
acoperisul, cuibul ciorilor,
lumina si vazduhul, peretii goi.
Colt de rai i-am zis,
seri languroase in scranciob,
ziua de lucru s-a incheiat, ne avantam
in calea soarelui si il privim cum asfinteste
intr-un valatuc de nori.
Unele legi ale naturii nu dispar.
Legea lui Murphy, ploaia care cade cand ti-e lumea mai draga,
la picnic, la nunta, pe rufele puse la uscat,
pe sezlong, pe bunatatea de tabac, pe hartii.
Toate maruntisurile. Lucruri.
Ce sunt ele fara oameni
daca nu niste relicve pe care sa le cerceteze arheologii?
O panglica care supravietuieste trupului, miros slab de lavanda.
Un cap din care s-a pastrat numai un smoc de par roscat.
Pietrele biliare intr-un borcan – ale lui si ale ei.
Observatie: ale lui erau mai mari decat ale maica-sii.
Bizarerii care sa te nedumereaca
in timp ce incerci sa pui totul cap la cap. Care e rostul?
Si, da, totusi mai duc pietre
la mormantul tau, pentru ca apoi sa le amestec.
Pietre cu tonuri de roz, de gri albastrui, granituri.
Pietre din Alderney, Carteret, Cromer,
Norwich, Aldeburgh, Duluth, Dartmoor, Leide,
o piatra de rau din Praga,
de care imi place sa cred ca s-a lovit Mozart la deget,
de care s-a impiedicat Kafka si a injurat-o ca si mine,
cand s-a lovit iar a treia oara. Iar si tot iar,
pierduti pe strazile mereu schimbatoare.