Earth
Poetry by Anya Margolina
"Tired and fabulous,
the road unravels before me,
before my feet can express
the orphan joy
of stepping forward
towards
the tired and fabulous road
that unravels before me”
We took off on a morning full of clover straightening out our footsteps and ringing like tiny bells.
We took the zeppelin.
We were so eager to leave that we used our teeth when our pocket knives refused to saw the ropes. We had to hurry: nobody was following, or threatening us; yet we feared that if we were too slow, our hands would start moving backwards.
We took the zeppelin.
We also took a calf, a large and round loaf of bread, a clock. We didn't take time to pack blankets, to count the wind rose, to read a poem like old Klaus used to do before each takeoff.
Old Klaus knew many poems, and all of them were different.
Yet all of them left a distinct woolen after-taste and old Klaus always put a small stone under his tongue, so that the taste of wool wouldn’t tie his moustache to his beard before he finished speaking.
Truly, his poems were peculiar beings!
Some would fly away from the tip of his tongue and melt in the morning mist before anyone could hear them.
Others beat like little hearts: noun-verb, noun-verb, noun-verb. They were ancient, older than old Klaus himself, and he used to say they were pulling him to his grave.When he recited one, his eyes rolled up, as if he was drowning in his own mind.
In the village, a rumour had it that old Klaus only had poems; that even his zeppelin was a poem.
“Unglaublich!” exclaimed the villagers, indignantly, “Klaus has no dirt under his nails, as all honest labourers do!”
Sometimes, when Klaus heard them speak, he would nod and smile.
…And so do we, we smile as the zeppelin rises above the trees spreading out their arms.
As the clock sings to the rhythm of our desperation, the calf has already started chewing on the bread. And all that remains is the water in the Big Lake below us, the snow falling from above, and our smiles. They, in turn, leave the dirt of earth to the nails of labourers, in exchange for a pillow of stardust.