The cat, the lover and the laundry
The cat, the lover and the laundry
by Ariadne Radi Cor
[1]
Revisiting ancient sites of winter mis-takes
on a line of clues, a cruise of thoughts,
circumnavigating Venus and the lamp beside the golden door, I recall.
[2]
My father used to demolish metal
and magnetic fields, manoeuvring cranes
laying his warmer right hand on the spine of the subalpine skyline.
Then he became a star, shooting back and forth
like a drunken cyclist on a dynamo bicycle
slaloming heaven, pedalling to be seen.
While my mother on earth used softener liberally
because the world has been so harsh:
at least the laundry is dreaming.
She used to leave the lamp on, to pretend we were in
but the burglars stole h...
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