PART OF WHERE THE POEM CAME FROM
Emotions: Hope, melancholy, connectedness A memory and sounds I heard were Romanian pop songs from my parents youth https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UyYY4craZ5k&feature=share LETS NEVER FORGET TO LOVE THE ROSES My friend sends me her parents’ favourite song. It sounds like a tango from their youth in Romania. Days when a dictator ruled and the living room was a ballroom of freedom. In her home, on the other side of the world nothing is lit, not even the lights, and the picture frame where their portrait sits rests in her lap. Outside it is spring, or the hint that something could change. What was buried under ice, is surfacing – buds, old dog shit, plastic bags and lost keys. When she packed up their house she held objects to remember them by. An ashtray, a teacup. Memories lay in the weight and shape of things. Fingers feel their way over strings, play songs we knew and songs we remember in our bodies. The streets are strange and silent. Walks reserved for dogs who sense the world is pausing a while, lift a leg to pee sniff the ground as though to say it’s all here, it’s all here beneath our feet.
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