Utu Man (67) Mother and Apple

Each time
when Shamash descends
in his amber bark,
the villagers lead to him
those who died
while it was dark.

I came to the god once,
leading by the hand
my mother
in her black dress, dead.

There weren't many people
on that day, quiet and bright.
I helped her climb the ladder
and get inside.

She sat silently
beside a girl and
an old man,

I put in her hand
a fresh apple
from our garden.

She smiled
with a smile both serene and dim,
like a little silver fish
caught in the net of time.

Then Shamash
took his oar and
the bark flew up,

leaving my apple
on the ground.

I brought it back home,
but didn't dare to eat,
and every night my room
is gently lit

by this apple that cannot wane
or lose its red,
as if it has never fallen
from her hand.

Вланес, 2010

Сертификат Поэзия.ру: серия 790 № 79156 от 12.04.2010

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