Bad weather
You go out for a walk. The winter is
outside with its white brush painting
the rooftops. Squirrels here and there-
trembling in suspense.
And there is a scream from an indefinable
source. No dogs about, just leashes carelessly
discarded in the backyards. Windows – two
eyes – closed, with lowered blinds.
And you are searching for the map in
your head thinking: “Where am I?”
Listening to the repulsive sound of the winter
sucking at the bones of the trees.
Blue impossibility
I prefer not to see the words that I am writing,
so I take a look through the window:
I see a dog walking outside, sniffing at the trees,
pissing in the bushes; white and brown dog,
and this is real enough to believe in it,
but I say:
Oh, brother this is not possible,
because I do not want to look at the words I am
writing right now,
or the words that I am not writing,
but the blue sky laughs,
this wide and grey sky tilts slowly upon my sheet;
this is impossible -
the fog and the brightness in me opens up,
memories of heavy rain or just my fantasies for rain?
The sounds of the approaching storm are crawling towards me:
I close my eyes -
not wanting to see the words that I am writing,
and I open them up again to see through the window
only this dead dog.
Peycho Kanev is the Editor In Chief of Kanev Books. His poems have appeared in more than 400 literary magazines, such as: Poetry Quarterly, Ann Arbor Review, Midwest Literary Review, Third Wednesday, Burnt Bridge, Istanbul Literary Review, The Penwood Review, The Mayo Review and many others. He is nominated for the Pushcart Award and lives in Chicago. In 2009 his short story collection Walking Through Walls (Ciela), and in April 2010 his poetry collection American Notebooks (Ciela) both were published in Bulgaria. His new poetry collection Bone Silence was released in September 2010 by Desperanto, NY.
Photo by John Vance
