Before the City Falls Asleep
The samovila's sadness is the meaty walnut
you're looking for in the plate
to bring you happiness next year.
It unwraps as a firmly sealed gift
you take thinking – her heart
is still as an orange of forgiveness.
Where the samovila's knee bends
no one is asking
or why she lulls babies to sleep
with the echoes of minarets.
She can’t tell why the old are silent in church
when they pray out loud by their beds.
At daytime she wonders the streets
feeding lost travellers
watching train toys on windowsills
a hand full of water over the flowerpots –
she wonders why they feed the plants
but kill the stray dogs.
At night she follows the white strands of hair
on the road to find her way home
between the earth and the sky
before the city falls asleep
mothers – cigarette in hand
push her our of tales not fully told