Author Archives: Krysia Jopek

“Hello. Hello. I don’t know where I am! Hello. I don’t know you!” the elderly woman kept repeating, the woman whose elbow Ziri, the lighthouse keeper, cupped with his hand. “Don’t touch me! I don’t know who you are! You’re … Continue reading →

The Angel of Poetry shook me tonight, but it seemed, at first, that no words would fall from my mouth or hands. I sewed up those wounds yesterday, I told him, and asked to lie in his dark wings. Some … Continue reading →

A: I don’t understand what you’re trying to prove. Z: That I have nothing to prove.     A: This path is shadow. Z: This I know.     A: Do not follow the other[s]. Let y come and show … Continue reading →

Most nights I go outside to check, the moon is still there. Someone somewhere else might be doing the same thing.   The owl has not yet returned from its stint somewhere else or is a casualty of the widening … Continue reading →

The refrain of rain returns the gutter-staccato. The birds will be happy with tomorrow’s easier worm-catch, especially the baby red-heads, cardinals perhaps, still on a learning curve.   Weeds will pull out more easily with the proper determination, stamina, and … Continue reading →

Maybe if I could write a poem, the day wouldn’t seem so meaningless; the rain wouldn’t give back so many unwanted memories. I gave someone a city. He built a golden wall around it and didn’t offer a key. My … Continue reading →

I set the table, but no one joined me for the ultimate conversation. Fools lie under the night sky without blankets waiting for answers. If you fail to love anything (such as the sky and river-light), you may disappear. Nothing … Continue reading →

I left everything at the shore because I was happy there on a day there were no reports of chemical warfare. [If this were a Pollock painting, chart the red undercurrent, then the blue.] Happy = not needing anything else … Continue reading →

We have come here to [for]get.  The nets cannot hold.   The postmodern city asks to become a heap/sequence of philosophical guesses, a checklist for the sublime.   Sophisticated equipment set up on the side of the road tracks the … Continue reading →

I hit the reset button—because my thoughts were taking too much time. And the yellow primrose and fuchsia sweet pea were stunning—how the primrose folded in their yellow pages when the sun closed its eyes, and the fuchsia flutter stumbled … Continue reading →