Thursday, March 27, 2014

Berezovy Sok (Березовый Сок)

A body is an eye in the dark. Its outermost skin conveys the impression of shape in the shadows. A hallowed silence gathers. The calmness of quietude places in her mind a bouquet of white carnations sniffed in passing at the grocery store: seemingly common, yet sweeter in scent than the reddest of the cellophane-wrapped roses--displayed all wrong, in even dozens, as if for a funeral--

Curiously, liltingly, as if a peony, a blossoming beneath her sternum. Sensation unfolds into an invisible hand slipping up surreptitiously to caress her hair. A garland of carnations descends upon her shoulders. Or perhaps it is a pair of arms.

Inside indigo umbrellas, questions circle.

"Have I gone mad, or are my senses rising, is the first sap of Spring streaming through my fingers? Could it be the sky wants to woo me as its wife? Or is this suitor nearer to my own mind?"

She does not expect any answer, having failed nearly all possible tests:

In her time, she has spilled more seeds than she could sort; caught only a glimpse of a gilded fleece-- grasped a corner of it, before it was torn away--lost even the remnant of the glittering fiber stuffed into a pocket--and, though she is, herself, a vase filled near to the brim by the dark river between the worlds--beauty and its variegated elixirs are a dialect in the distance. Yet there is this: she has striven, endeavored, contended: endured.

A glimpse of a silhouette, of a movement between the trees. The kindness of bark curls into a tight embrace of limbs and trunk. A fever of branches emerges from her ears, and spreads across the pillow. Leaflings tangle in her hair.

Could it be that her own spirit, after wandering for so many years, has returned to her at last?

"I love you," she whispers into the throbbing velvet dark.

4 comments:

bluestorm said...

So many exquisite lines, just gorgeous! Bravo!

Iulia Flame said...

Thank you.

EarthWolf said...

what stunning imagery :)

Iulia Flame said...

EarthWolf, I am honored that you stopped to comment. :) Thanks.

En plein air - in memoriam Andrew Bellon

A dreamless sleep falls from the shimmering leaves. --Sappho fragment, tr. Andrew Bellon I changed, thickened, ...

popular on this site