LONG LISTED FOR THE 2023 GRIFFIN POETRY AWARDS
Helen and her lover frequented a hotel
at the outskirts of the city,
one of those cheap, neighborhood hotels
with the ancient, tired beds, the old mirrors
ravaged by dampness
the basins, side tables, overused napkins
things touched by thousands before you, people
who perhaps might have died and while they might
rot in the soil and rain
these things still retain on them the impersonal
vague memory
of their passing; ephemeral couples, gamblers,
drunkards, nuts,
ambitious and lonely who cried all night long.
For this reason things have their fate, noiseless
and yes merciless
and for this something deeper exists in every
life:
the life of others. Helen and her lover would
rent a room they’d undress and try desperately
to meet; however their hands were blind because
of their eagerness.
Finally, after having sex they’d meet again,
remaining silent for a long time, listening to
the faraway city buzz, vaguely discerned, as if
tuning their organs: for which performance
though?
Mayanaam
vequinox
Manolis 