BEACHHEAD
Prose poem by Irina Moga; drawing by Tatiana Arsénie
The moon behind your shadow: a windmill of clouds, fragmented.
It feels as if I have come ashore after a long absence, trekking through green algae and inverted flower capsules.
You are here: I’ve reached the beachhead of your presence.
~~~
This poem was originally published in the online literary magazine Les Femmes Folles edited in Nebraska.
OLD HOUSE
Prose poem by Irina Moga; drawing by Tatiana Arsénie
There was the time we spent together: time made of puffed up silences, suspended - just like the branches of the trees and the effaced gambrel of the roof.
Eroded shapes, bearing the brunt of our words; salty marshes in the distance, closing in on the sea that we knew would be a possible exit.
An old house, with boarded up windows and doors and creaking baseboards; tiny pieces of sand dollars nestled between rusted hinges and locks.
But there was no immediate sea, of course.
~~~
This poem was originally published in the online literary magazine Les Femmes Folles edited in Nebraska.