Gedicht
Lidija Cvetkovic
A Seed, A Crutch, A Heart
A Seed, A Crutch, A Heart
A Seed, A Crutch, A Heart
1from the pig’s slit throat a red carpet unrolls
all his life he’s been fed for this
the matron of honour lays birds’ eggs in her braid
they’ll seal the nuptial kiss with their hatching
the bride’s kin descends from the hills making wide gestures
with splintered hands, carrying the scent of humus and wolves
they meet at crossroads and laugh through the ruins of their teeth
as they hand the groom a gun
when he shoots the apple off the bride’s head
a seed flies into her eye and grows into a seedling
clumsy virgins flirt with guests’ lapels, pin rosemary
for fidelity, flaunt drops of blood from pricked fingers
the bride holds back from pulling a loose thread
off the priest’s vestment lest it unstitch him
she back-flips her bouquet towards a young widow
marked with mourning, but the wind blows it back
the groom’s hand mounts the bride’s over the knife
his thumb crushes a frosted rose beneath the arbour
when midnight snips the marionette strings
the bride and groom collapse, cannot hold each other up
the groom chops the slender apple tree
and carves crutches, etches a heart in her iris
2
an apple tree grows from youth’s eye
youth saw through its white bow
an apple thumped youth on the head
youth was never the same again
they cut the apple tree to protect youth
somebody etched a heart on the stump
that’s all that remains in youth’s eye
and a flicker now and then
© 2004, Lidija Cvetkovic
From: War is not the Season for Figs
Publisher: St Lucia, University of Queensland Press
From: War is not the Season for Figs
Publisher: St Lucia, University of Queensland Press
Gedichten
Gedichten van Lidija Cvetkovic
Close
A Seed, A Crutch, A Heart
1from the pig’s slit throat a red carpet unrolls
all his life he’s been fed for this
the matron of honour lays birds’ eggs in her braid
they’ll seal the nuptial kiss with their hatching
the bride’s kin descends from the hills making wide gestures
with splintered hands, carrying the scent of humus and wolves
they meet at crossroads and laugh through the ruins of their teeth
as they hand the groom a gun
when he shoots the apple off the bride’s head
a seed flies into her eye and grows into a seedling
clumsy virgins flirt with guests’ lapels, pin rosemary
for fidelity, flaunt drops of blood from pricked fingers
the bride holds back from pulling a loose thread
off the priest’s vestment lest it unstitch him
she back-flips her bouquet towards a young widow
marked with mourning, but the wind blows it back
the groom’s hand mounts the bride’s over the knife
his thumb crushes a frosted rose beneath the arbour
when midnight snips the marionette strings
the bride and groom collapse, cannot hold each other up
the groom chops the slender apple tree
and carves crutches, etches a heart in her iris
2
an apple tree grows from youth’s eye
youth saw through its white bow
an apple thumped youth on the head
youth was never the same again
they cut the apple tree to protect youth
somebody etched a heart on the stump
that’s all that remains in youth’s eye
and a flicker now and then
From: War is not the Season for Figs
A Seed, A Crutch, A Heart
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère