The purple thistles of Scotland

Janet Rieck 

Will you blow her candle
when time comes?
She is too tired to do it
by herself.

Her heart has always been weaker
than her flesh.
She has loved so many men
but it wasn't them she kissed.
Her body sang another song.
Can you understand a woman like her?
I have always seen her anti-existential life
as a mystery and a challenge.

Will you serve her another glass of life?
She is thirsty for things she doesn't know yet
because they have no name.

Somebody told me when she closes her eyes,
she still sees Scotland.
His accent loved the silent broken stars in her dark eyes.
She only loved the unreachable Poetry in him.

When she talks about the Isle if Islay,
I feel she is buried there between the transparent shadows
of yesterday and the annihilated purple thistles.
Will you blow her candle?
She has never been so vulnerable in her life.
Just one more thing:
Be careful when you do it
because a gentle blow may lead her
to open the window again.
The fall hurts less than life.

Karla Bardanza

 Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2012

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