salvation is in the warm fur

salvation is in the warm fur
salvation is in the sweet meat
salvation is in the liquid blood
let us praise debauchery
with veneration let us speak the names
Tais Fryne and Judith the Jewish streetwalker

the future of the world is in our arms
oh it is in our hot arms
in our thighs desirous shameless
in our fertile breasts
with veneration let us speak the names
of Tais Fryne and Judith the Jewish streetwalker

in the boundless space wobbles the earth
out to the sun it holds the grass rootstocks
men root deep underground
with the blind snouts of moles
and we –
wisdom is in our arms
salvation is in the sweet meat
of Tais Fryne and Judith the Jewish streetwalker

Halina Poświatowska

Today the cat’s huge eyes

Today the cat’s huge eyes ripened under the gooseberry
bush. Theirs was the true green of the unique
phosphorescent greenery of the wind and the sun. They
were greener than the deeply alive leaves on the dark
brown branches. They shone. The still slender stalks
of the daffodils nonchalantly pushed asunder the earth
with their spider’s web of violet shoots. This was a
garden that stretched under the knowing hand of the sun
it smiled it grew radiantly — aiming to reach those
fingers — lightly touching with an irritating caress
as needed as life.

Halina Poswiatowska

one more remembrance

one more remembrance
just now i wrote a word
i am older by a word
by two
by three
by a poem

older — what does it mean older

within the abstraction named history
i was given a narrow range
from here — to there

i am bulging

within the abstraction named economics
i was commanded to live

within the abstraction named time –
i wander
i get lost
and wander

in the Metropolitan Museum
in the Egyptian sculpture section
a stone smiles with womanly lips

Halina Poświatowska

Last Poem

This is the last poem
for you.
There’ll be none more
I said.

Then
I closed the letter with a stamp
and dropped
the square flat heart
into the mailbox narrow slot.

Now people tread with caution
around the letterbox
and keep asking
what’s that?

Did a bird move into
the letterbox
for it beats its wings on the sides
and nearly sings.

Halina Poswiatowska