Christmas
Deep cold, the wind accompanies and underlines the seconds, like a suite for cello and piano, the radius of the sun a crystal that dribbles and iridizes, a withered little flower in the pot and a sparrow eats crumbs at the veranda, apartment blocks with flat terraces, where can the moon throw its light?, and when the night comes, clouds of smoke rise up and the stars a stain, a naked plateau, mountains all around and a night lamp lights in the dawn, projecting on the deserted wall a paper moon, a tracking through the night of an acrobat levitating on a rope stretching all over the city and the burning lights show him the way, between the visible and the invisible star of the Three Wise Men, empty manger, Christmas, where did you hide?, grey New Year’s Eve and a ‘’Happy New Year’’, each year on this day we remember the battle between the new and the old, the old one leaves, the new one comes, like a little angel of glass that fell from the tree and broke one of its wings, animal breaths are warming up the frost, the hay and the faeces smell and, in the cold, God -who is and is not, who shines and fades like the memory of Christmas when we were kids and we were sneaking in the bags of Santa’s presents, the little god staggered and said, star, illuminate the road in this dark wood and take me home
Constantia Geronta
Constantia Geronta was born in Ptolemaida, Greece. She studied in Athens and in Paris, has a doctorate in French Literature., and has published seven books of poetry in Greece.
A mesmerizing piece of evocative images. Thanks you, Constantia.