...and Ouzo

and Ouzo…

 brand new Charcoal suit

her father wears, proudly parades

pearl beads adorn her mothers

soft pink neck

a white rose is pinned to her brothers lapel

 symbols of a sacrament 

it is an occasion for family

they fly in from Sydney, Adelaide,

Singapore and Greece

there is dancing in her parents home

laughter too

they are all drunk on happiness

and ouzo

……………………………………………………………

many years earlier another

bride wept

far from home

sent to marry

no parents, no pearls,

roses were scarce

a distant relative picked her up in a delivery truck

used to ferry chickens

the church empty apart from three neighbours

the priest

and a choir boy

bound by duty

she wore the dress that many before her had worn

one of many to be bartered in this way

family in Greece exchange gold coins, goats, ouzo

the man who stands beside her is a stranger

his scent is foreign

she will sleep with him tonight

his curly coal black hair

a smile gentle and warm

she will be happy

she has decided

years have passed and

holding tight

she has been happy

day flooded with memories

sadness mixed in with euphoria

knowing that her daughter will not travel to church

in a delivery truck

 

Lifeless

a sheet covering hangs

without form shaping

my body beneath it-

grey feet are exposed

air heavy mocks the

mother mourning this loss

silence the voices loud and relentless

she pleads to those who won’t hear her

the swollen belly such joy and promise

and here in this noisy, brutal room she knows

darkness covers the surrounding streets

this day is brief, humid and silver

sandwiched between two nights

silence sucking hours then days into its cavernous hold.

Published in Garfield Lake Review 2014

Vendor's Hustle

Vendor’s Hustle

I spot you every morning

corner of 47^th and 9^th

bare brown shoulders

bowed forward pushing

your laden cart

over your nose Ray Bans tipped

dusty face and arms

dusty like the sidewalk

sidewalk hot and steamy

waft of Paco Robanne

a burst of humanity

Your livelihood this street

its oppressive heat

You entice with whispers

One-dollar bags, lady

Come this way

Have a look

Vendor’s hustle

Some of you ready to run

On the lookout for police

I wuz lucky you say

Escaping from crack

Some things I know,

wish I never knew

It’s New York

No time to talk

Time is gold

Up at 4 am to be ready

Scarfs hats bags

Step up to the table

Hello ladies

Vendor’s hustle

We Are Here

Government overthrown,

No work,

No bread or oil or sugar in the shop.

Water is rationed

Darkness presides over daylight

School no longer educates our children.

We must escape,

Escape death,

Seek life.           

Fear and sweat and terror

(Violence)

 Leaving home when darkness falls

We walk and ache and walk still

                                     the unknown.

Taken onto a truck and dropped at the border.

            

We arrive at a place more tormenting than our own,

Rotted flesh,

And waste,

Where are we?

Who are we?

They ask.

No papers, no names,

           

We wait.

We wait another five years,

More children with no

School to go to.

Given flour, sugar and oil,

Enough to keep from dying.

I think of family left behind,

Landscape hot and dusty.

Lined, weathered faces

Peer at us from under cloaks.

Alone with my dreams,

My fears,

Alone again when we are summoned to the UNHCR (United Nations High Commission for Refugees)

Still nowhere to take us all.

We are leaving this reviled place where people die

 Without a name,

                                                             Without a home.

We are going to find Freedom,

We are.

Freedom will erase our memories of fear

drought

hunger

 death.

Freedom will save us.

Where do we arrive?

Another alien place

Stranger than the first,

Barbed wire surrounds us

Opening, closing of doors,

Women crying, children screaming

Guards call numbers out

The clanging of keys

We must escape from here

But how,

It is harder

No one knows we’re here.

Weeping ANTIPODiANS

The grandeur of the avenue

Doric columns stand

Regal and polished

Oblivious to the surrounding chaos

Hatred in ink sprayed black

There are places that don’t belong to geography but to time*

 Ancient city, people

ancient walls, rituals,

heroic leaders enshrined

in legend,

 an era long gone.

The fall from grace  

Is heavily burdened

with blame and

fear

What has become of you Hellenism

In this new world?

the inheritance

Custodians proudly embraced?

watching from abroad

Powerless to intervene

The Antipodes is weeping  

 Zeus can no longer will his way

 Gods of Mount Olympus make your presence felt

*Saul Steinberg: Reflections and Shadows

Ellipses

Ellipses

Dark grey beauty trapped

Breathtaking release occurs

Burst of colour flies

Foetus fatigued

Independence not far now

Red and beating heart

Dark and subversive

Struggling, resisting, shedding

Explosive colour

Mary Chydiriotis 2012

Orange In Darkness

Frankincense pungent and heady

Gold haloed ghosts peer down at me

Macabre scenes come to mind

Surrounded by gold and jewels.

Candles illuminate light

Hearts Shrouded in darkness

Black and charcoal suits

Perfume still permeates the air

It is thick with sorrow

Bleak while the air outside bursts with blossoms.

The meek shall inherit the earth

Did someone just say that?

 The truth lies elsewhere

She was too young

Way too young to be celebrated here

 In the darkness.

Looking down to shield my tears

I realise how inappropriate my shoes are

Sneakers a florescent orange.

First published in Short and Twisted 2013