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Doina Postolachi Poem
She chose a red scarf. The most red
of them all.
Of a dark red, a sweet and thick red color,
just as wine.
She carved from the red scarf
from the middle
to the size of a Martini glass.
Then she carved one more glass,
and she kept carving
till she fell asleep.
Yesterday
she saw her Beloved Moth
flirting with a Younger Moth,
carving together from a sweater
while she was getting busy,
carving in the shelves.
The Unhappy Moth drank lots of wine
woolen wine,
last night.
She drank lots, too much
for a Moth.
The Unhappy Moth got drunk
and fell asleep
on the red scarf,
unhidden
with a heart filled with peace.
She was not afraid no more.
Now she could be seen easily,
laying on the scarf
and easily crushed.
The Unhappy Moth was not
afraid of death no more,
at least, now she knew
how wonderful the red scarfs are
and that they taste
like red wine.
Copyright © Doina Postolachi | Year Posted 2012
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