***

To the girl who stole a loaf of bread

I am glad I grew up, slightly foreign look, 
I am glad that I drank bitter otherness’ milk.
I am glad that albeit they prohibited books, - 
But the ones I have read bloomed inside me like silk,

And from them, I had fashioned my Scarlet Sails, -
always blowing and showing me Deep Blue and forth
And I looked at horizon where doom met with dream, 
And when both overcame me, I sailed toward both. 

Feel the waters of Time, -nowhere bridges in sight!
No sides safely chosen, no recovering Grail. 
I was damned, I got broken uncounted times,
And the points of suture are bleeding again, 

Only words of all worlds, they still sparkle and rhyme
Under embers of brimstone, in roars of rain
On the willows somewhere hangs, forgotten, my lyre,
Since the times immemorial. Nelly, I am
Heathcliff. 

********

My ramblings about stealing a loaf of bread were, much to my surprise, published last year in Apocryphaa ( former “The Books That Made Us”), the excellent blog by

M. E. Rothwell

. He also writes Cosmographia, fascinating beyond any words I might find.

The girl hasn’t changed that much, for better or worse.

Except for the teeth thing. Teeth don’t grow on trees, внезапно сказал я. Вот вам и рифма:)

* The image is called “untitled - #63”, photography by Patrick Gonzales

Thank you, thank you, thank you.