Читать книгу MxT - Sina Queyras - Страница 10

Dear One, the future has crumbling infrastructure and more rain than ice, but there we are, peeking out like the tiny flowers that appear in the cracks under sills. Dear One, I am struggling to be in my body, struggling to stay where I am; I want to be closer to my memory of you. I am adrift without it.

Here in this city that does not love me, the sky falls like sheets of concrete, my days are a loud vertical assembly line of grey, crowding out the loops of pinks and purples, but no longer joy. The gentle men of my gym line up at the window on Papineau, shins in hand, heads turned momentarily away from the hockey game to the trees still trembling from autumn’s threading.

Dear One, I can’t shake you. It’s my fault I am unhappy here. I am the only tree on the block refusing to let my leaves fall. I ride the light; I ride the future thinking of crinoline and cold white wine.