Monday, July 3, 2017

Guest Poet Daniel Dragomirescu

The Gibraltar Letter

Beekman, Plewman, Damerment –
those other three were shot already,
indifferently, in the back of the neck,
kneeling there – and burned;
she deserved better treatment,
“Our full attention,” Ruppert said.
She was, “…highly dangerous,” Ruppert said.
Nacht und Nebel. Creole.”
He pulled her in. We stripped her –
Unterrock, Bustenhalter, Schülpfer.
I could see her armpit hair. Silky black.
Her skin smelled sour and salty.
He punched her down. She clutched:
hacked and filthy finger-nails
jabbed the air.
She bumped me; looked a split-
second into my eyes; shivered –
beyond me – as if seeing something
Beautiful – she was; no longer.
Spoiled now. Split lips, milky eyes.
She curled like a pale prawn
on the floor. He kicked her.
He could, couldn’t he?
Kicked her again, in the chest,
glittering her skin
against her loyal arms.
She yelped, snuffled. Blood leaked
through, and bruises clouded her flesh,
blue and yellow like thunder.
There was blood from her nose,
her scalp, dribbling down her face
into her snarling mouth. 
What was she saying?
I could only watch and not watch.
Then Ruppert told me to go –
“Get out.” What use was I,
anyway, to her: “Yoop, the poor fool”?
The door clanged, shuddered shut,
and, behind the reverberations,
like spume, came her stifled cries
and the smacks and the grunts. I stood
outside, quivering. Then a sudden silence.
The room exhaled and she was in there,
quiet. Ruppert came out.
There was smear on his pale red face.
He did not look (beneath himself) at me.
I put my key in the lock.
We left her in there,
naked on the concrete.
Next day, I had to shoot her –
we were finished with her –
through her pale dark skin.
No one helped. My hand shook.
Maybe she was only wounded. Maybe.
Her skin was heavy and cold,
twitching, bloody,
like some catch from the water,
I hugged her into the oven.
I had it hot already.
Dust of the others
was still in there,
like powdered myrrh, 


Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home