SELECTED POETRY

by
Grace Andreacchi

FOR ULRIKE

So you've done all right for yourself
Translating minor novels from an antique tongue
And the same man still on board � well done.
Well, it was what you wanted
That safe proximity of almost-art
The real thing scared you �
(Black goblin under the bed)
Remember the time you called the police
Thinking me about-to-die or dead?
Never mind, you meant it well
You had a good heart.

Your face now floats the electric air
Back from the underwater time
Half-remembered, half-forgot
The same dark thundercloud of hair
And heavy brows, a pair of bright blue eyes
I remember you laughed a lot.

Better I remember your voice
Soft and low round the stinking coal fire
We unrolled our selves like samplers
In the dim light, threads glinting dark or bright
While outside the snow fell
Hour by hour into the silent night.

I watched you fall in love that year
Perhaps gave you a push �
Jump in! The water's fine
No need to fear
Somehow I knew you'd never sink but swim
As for him, he worshipped the ground
As well he might.

As for me
I drifted out to sea
And drowned. Let's leave it at that.
Some things lost are better left unfound
You'd only remember
A crazy woman who could write.
Still, I'm glad you did all right.

� Grace Andreacchi

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SAKURA

Like some absurd young bride
in billowing white silk
diamant� tiara, long white gloves
outside a grimy registry office

You, blossoming cherry
outside my door.

� Grace Andreacchi

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A VISIT TO THE PALACE OF WHITE DEATH

I must travel for many days
across a snowbound landscape
utterly still
not even a bird to break the silence
When at last I arrive and ring the bell
no one answers
I wait outside in the cold for a long time
Then the door is opened by two tall orderlies in white
who neither smile nor speak
They lead me to a perfectly bare room
white or grey in the twilight

You are sitting bound to a chair
in the exact centre of the room
dressed in a straitjacket and striped
pyjamas darkly wet at the crotch
I look down at your
white ankle bones
legs like broken sticks
bare feet on the dirty white tile floor
I think how I once kissed those feet
on a golden afternoon by a lake

I look up
You neither smile nor speak
But once again our eyes lock
and I feel my heart begin to sink
like a ship going down in icy seas

� Grace Andreacchi

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