the cactus plant blossoms gloriously

for another year we two have been separated by a common heaven. for all this time, i’ve been writing letters to you in my head.  i miss you. and this is a cactus that decided to blossom on the window-sill. apparently, it likes it there. sometimes, i meet you in my dreams, and we do…

padziedi, zeme

padziedi, zeme, par baltu smilgu zaļajā mežā, par zelta lapu apaļā liepā; padziedi māti viņajā pusē, zaļajā zemē, zeltajā domā, klusums kur veļas, mākoņos aizķerts

different lucidity

they say – and i have seen it actually – there is a moment of lucidity before the final departure. the whole of today is torn by flashbacks. of pictures of sudden bursts of coherence and actual joy when my mother spoke like she was better. of the little flutter of hope. and then, the…

possessive modality

my memories. of her last days. my body remembers uncontrollably. these are my possessions, my riches, my hoard: my pain and my love for her. i wish i had found the courage to tell her, to verbalise my love and care, to make them known with words also. the unsaid festers and burns, and can be disposed…

comparatively

even when death is but passing, it towers and looms over the traveller home; the things important on the linear path get brushed under the quiet rock, the immense carpet made by transcendent hands; death is but passing – you know it, and i, and yet we stay

the empty graves

“but i want to go to your mother’s grave,” she said. “you can come or not, it does not matter,” she added. “but i’d appreciate a navigator.” “i do not see what i’ve forgotten there,” i said. “but ok, i’ll go.” and so we went. the day was bright and sunny, the road characteristically abysmal,…

roses and tomatoes

roses are green and red, and yellow, and orange. tomatoes are green and red and yellow and orange. roses smell nice. tomatoes smell nice. now, how come, we do not put tomatoes in a vase, and do not eat roses for salad? ======================================= my dead mother inhabits my dreams, mutely disappearing at the most odd…

exp +360

and again. for the past nights, i have been dreaming of losing her again. or not losing. it all is so confusing. my rational mind tells me- all that could have been lost, has been [lost], and there is nothing, nothing at all to be done about it. my body memory, morphic memory, tells me that something…

wind in the reeds, or is it reeds in the wind

wind makes music by ages old recipe, and i read her shadow, standing between the light and the blackness, within fire, and not outside the permafrost, shadow, written of half-recollected chunks of what my blood has been way back when i was no more. wind cuts the reeds in palpable swaths and they crackle into…

the unwritten

i thought about writing a long and maybe poetic post about my mother playing tetris. she was perfect at it. but i will not. because it would be too long and too poetic, and what is inside me is all raw and sore, and not poetic at all. she played tetris like a world champion…

unresolved

i miss her. it’s been a year and a half roughly – and i still miss her. the little things, the casual talk on the phone, the cabbage recipe, the enjoying of bananas or fish soup. nothing great or important, just the little, everyday, unimportant things. the beautiful voice. the work-worn hands. the ‘life must go on’…

how the darkside has no cookies, but is very powerful anyway

this is how one becomes a dark lord (alternatively to the usual hunger for power and selfishness): there is a strong need to protect. there is the inability to lose what one loves. there is a sense of one’s own power. there is a choice in favour of friendship over the system. there is an inability…

another conjunction

even if living here, one is supposed to be proud of the winters with their cold and snow and blizzards and ice and whatnot, and sort of look down on the ‘southern softies’, i sometimes think that a more temperate climate would be an advantage. i am bored by monochrome. i want daffodils. but the…

of the unspoken

it is january. my body remembers the decisions i had to make last year. and i remember never been able to tell her i love her. or how much i love her. or that i have ever wanted to be able to tell her. i thought it was more important to do the love. to do…

another night, another hole in reality

i knew it would. anticipated this. it is just that all the knowledge and anticipation, and theory… allow one only to seek a hideout in time, and stash valerian. and some other stuff. for the times when one just breaks down. for the nights. for the festivals.

presence

she said, ‘what makes you happy?’ i said, ‘wait a moment, i have to think.’ (because i live my life in different terminology) then i said: ‘i know what makes me happy. it is the presence of my god.’ she said: ‘you are a lucky person, then.’ and then i thought that happiness is something…

neskaties

es atgriežos kaut kur starp nāvi un klusumu saulstaru rakstos bērzu spurdzes pārklājas rasas prizmām un dzilnīša srīi-srīi kā dimants griež ledus; tāds āliņģis starp toreiz un vienmēr; tāds elpas pārtraukums.

she who took me into this world

she was. those words taste strangely. she is my mother, regardless of her status with life or death. do i have words for her? do i have memories? on the scale of one to ten, as a mother, she was about 5. on the same scale as a friend, she gets 12 minimum. but i…

predictably but too soon

min moðor forðferde. i think it was the best for the given circumstances, she died like the active person she was. in action. for which i admire her. and also. i think the this was the best variant of all the possible variants. this is what she wanted, how she wanted to go. fast. neat.…