Father used to say mother
is like the river
as lucid, as fast. There is no truth
in such words. Mother resembles the sky,
light blue, enclosing, immense
without end. He is like the river
dark blue, as lucid, as ready
to leave. A day, a bundle of clothes.
The days have passed quickly since then.
They fall in between the brick stones
of the walls. I have seen them myself
through the magnifying glass,
(—Here, look at this, look at this family here.
My wood cars on the grass, the blue, blue sky,
over this place. This laughter
from this boy who is me, Nathan.)
constantly becoming pieces of a life.
But this house forgives the days
he is gone. It talks of him
in between these rooms.
And he has been gone for so long.
Lena Bezawork Grönlund is a writer, translator, and teacher. She lives in Sweden.