The King of Shoemakers - part 4

by Sigbjørn Skåden


The King of Shoemakers - part 4

Thea, my Thea,

you cannot imagine

the mildness

Jusup’s imaginary

noted at your side

as I watched you sleeping at night,

as I dwelled in the palm of your breath,

as the scent of your skin sent me

to Thea’s kingdom,

to Jusup’s kingdom;

the gaze in your eyes

and your squeaky voice singing

songs you did not know:

you brought me peace,

and I,

mindless Jusup,

crawled into a southern girl’s heart

and went to rest.

 

“Joseph, I think you can hear my thoughts”

and so I could.

Kitchen,

attic,

chapel,

dinghy,

shoulders,

fingers,

hamstrings,

thingy,

Jusup’s able hands brightened

the soul of the charmer

and tied the fingers harder to the sinews.

Grandfather’s wise voice:

“Never venture south…!”

but so I did;

discounting the crapmouthed elders

“I am Jusup,

I am Jusup,

I am Jusup,”

and so I ventured.

 

Honored Terra South,

within you I floated in the sweetest sleep;

your descentress

a soft mattress,

the outside world nowhere in sight,

draped as I was inside a cocoon,

but good Terra South,

a man does not sleep forever

and when morning came

I finally glimpsed

the vast horizon of Terra North,

and on the watery membrane of the eyepool awakened

the spirit. 

Sigbjørn Skåden