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Violetta Simatupang Poem
The heat was scorching today
its flames licking the ridges of every soul to a boil
i was busy searching for a chill from an electric fan
an ice cream, the sea, a fridge, an air con, the azure pool
suddenly i heard a vagrant knocking at the door
”Pardon me, sir, I’m burning with heat
would you be so kind as to lend me your cold handkerchief?”
”I bet you are. So long as you’re on the street,
you always are. Only, I don’t have a cold handkerchief.”
”But the heat is really, really killing me, sir.
A cold handkerchief might just cool me down.”
”I don’t have a cold handkerchief. But, I’ll give you a jug of water.”
”Ah, thank you, sir.”
But I handed the hobo a cold handkerchief anyway
which he received from my stiff, frozen
glacier-like fingers
as his frail body was melting to a springing
kalkausar
that drowned me in
to a chill
Copyright © Violetta Simatupang | Year Posted 2014
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Details |
Violetta Simatupang Poem
Coming ashore at the island of Trunyan
to its teeth of bone
eyes to four directions tongue bloodthirsty
- what do you want this late at night? surely
to seek help from the moon
black chicken
sticky-rice flower
baskets : baskets
a frozen kris at the tip of my shoulders
suck the remaining portals of shame
at the split of banana leaves I look at her
purple sweat. her white kebaya sodden
pura gede pancering jagat temple as foreground
my name once again
my name once again
- that pot of authentic China rolls like a cart
speeding out of my body
like the shameless envious souls of jealous skeletons:
“look ma, my soul reawakens, I am no longer dead”
two baskets
black chicken
one o’clock that night the island of Trunyan
rolled its tongue in laughter
its tickled eyes stripping all bare
its hoarse voice splitting the eerie road
I want to go home soon – my boat is moored by the lakeside!
Notes :
Kris – a dagger with jagged edges.
Kebaya – traditional shirt that ladies wear in Indonesia, typically made of see-through cloth or brocade.
Copyright © Violetta Simatupang | Year Posted 2014
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