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.

Steliana Palade

Judi Benson
 

Si totusi pietrele

Casa se strange si se intinde,
ofteaza noaptea, trosnind din podele,
mansarda, cuibul ciorilor,
lumina si aer, peretii golasi.
O farama de rai, credem amandoi,
amurguri lenese, in balansoar,
truda zilei terminata, suim in
intampinarea soarelui, privim
apusul invaluit in nori.
Unele legi naturale se aplica inca.
Legea lui Murphy, ploaie cand ti-e lumea mai draga,
la petrecere, la nunta, pe rufele intinse la uscat,
pe sezlong, pe tigarile dragi si pe hartii.
Toate maruntisurile. Lucruri.
Ce-s ele in lipsa oamenilor,
daca nu relicve demne de cercetari arheologice.
O panglica care supravietuieste carnii, parfum discret de levantica.
O suvita de par castaniu, unde capul lipseste.
Pietre biliare stranse intr-un borcan, ale ei si ale lui.
Nota: ale lui erau mai mari decat ale mamei sale..
Bizarerii la care sa te crucesti,
incercand sa descifrezi misterele. Ce sens?
Da, inca mai duc pietre
la mormantul tau, ca sa le amestec.
Rozalii, gri-albastrui, de culoarea granitului.
Pietre de la Aldeney, Carteret, Cromer,
Norwich, Aldeburgh, Duluth, Dartmoor, Leide,
o piatra de rau din Praga,
de care, imi place sa cred, si-a lovit Mozart degetul de la picior,
care i-a pus piedica lui Kafka, zmulgandu-i, ca si mie, o injuratura
a treia oara. Oara intr-o doara,
pierdut printre strazile ce se schimba neincetat.