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.

Andreea Hadambu

Michael Curtis

La adapostul portului

1

L-a invatat de timpuriu – acel zambet –

si l-a arborat printre oameni

ca sa-i imbuneze si sa-i convinga.

Il exersa in fiecare dimineata,

isi linistea copiii,

isi deprindea sotul cu bunele maniere,

il purta in fiecare seara pe buze

cand patrundea intr-o incapere in care rasunau hohotele barbatilor,

l-a invatat cum sa obtina bacsisuri la bar,

il lasa sa-i cuprinda rand pe rand conturul gurii,

obrajii inalti si maxilarele inclestate,

ii colora cuvintele in alb si rosu,

se folosea de el la intamplare,

il lasa sa se-ncurce jucaus intr-o suvita de par

si sa-i insoteasca ochii cu care-l privea a doua oara

pe strainul de la masa din colt,

pana cand noptile nesatioase

i l-au sters de pe chipul retusat

si i l-au stins din ochi

2

Asa ca asta seara

ochii ei sunt goliti

de orice lumina,

iar zambetul

odata gasit cu-atata usurinta,

cand se aprinde lumanarea,

are acum nevoie de clipe bune ca sa reinvie atunci cand ea se-ndreapta

din camera din spate spre masa noastra.

Lunga ei vara pestrita

s-a impotmolit in august,

apasatoare ca zilele de iarna,

iar acum ea trebuie sa continue sa paseasca printr-un vis a carui vraja nu poate fi rupta

si din care nu se intrezareste nicio scapare

3

Asemenea visului

pe care dimineata il dai uitarii,

dar care nu-ti da pace,

fiul tau mort, tatal tau din nou pe moarte, cosmarul

care s-a cuibarit adanc in spatele ochilor innegurati ore intregi in ciuda razelor de soare, a luminii lampii si a iubirii redesteptate,

astfel incat glasul de la telefon din acea seara nu poate fi crezut, ilustrata

plajei de pe insula thailandeza,

cu data mazgalita – probabil a fost cenzurata –, e-mailul care confirma sosirea ei

e un fals, si singurul lucru

care poate inlatura indoiala

e un alt vis amintit pe jumatate,

necautat, involuntar, dar de data aceasta, suportabil

4

Asemenea catamaranului imponderabil

care incaleca nesfarsitele focuri,

stingand si aprinzand marea calda,

intr-o buna dimineata

hotarata, in fata privirilor uimite,

sa arda toate urmele de nori

in vreme ce darele vremelnice ale iahturilor

ies la suprafata si isi incearca sansa

de-a se desface in unde nesupuse, far-astampar,

iar dezvelite in bataia vantului molesit, motoarele zumzaie infundat cu elicele spre soare,

in vreme ce echipajele se perinda printre vieti

5

Asemenea noua pe sarea vietii,

inotand pe marea tot mai seaca,

imbaindu-ne sub soarele amestecat cu ploi, imbratisand umbra de sub pini,

descarnati de forme, redusi la un contur, astfel incat identitatea face loc deghizarii,

iar vrabiile ciugulesc cocotate pe dune, musculitele roiesc deasupra nisipurilor,

in vreme ce noi urmam indicatiile

necunoscute paznicilor de granita,

care le iau drept harti pictate pe oglinda

pe care moartea si-a lasat amprenta de argint viu,

iar aici ne vom gasi calea,

in timp ce familii de cinci zoresc pedaland, saltele zac dezumflate sub cerul dupa-amiezei,

iar ziua izvoraste lumina pura,

navigam printre nori pe o ruta proprie

si ne inchipuim ca ajungem sa poposim,

pana cand ne multumim cu zambetele

care se ofera doar altor surasuri pereche.