LONG LISTED FOR THE 2023 GRIFFIN POETRY AWARDS
End of Day Desires
Often, having no hope for anything anymore, I’d open
my old calendar: humble saints crowded the yellow pages;
I’d call them with a whisper and of course the dead finally
win; when the hotel man, St. Sampson, had just arrived,
“how have you reached heavens?” I asked, “the stairway
was dark”, he said,
certainly all this seems imaginary but I who had stayed
with them for years, at times I sat on the edge of the bed
and I followed the man who passed by, “where are you
headed, can you not see?” I asked him; no one answered,
“then”, I said to him, “don’t be late though when you send
the killer at least let him be a child”.
Mayanaam
vequinox
Manolis 