The Principal Fund of Words
If you do not write my name every single day,
your hand be crushed by the vice of sentences!
Twisted, the mouth
with which you mumble the words!
Whipped up the word
that opens the wolf-traps
between you and us!
And may they never be healed, those wounds of yours
that you wash with my tears
brought into town in a barrel!
And may your face
be forever smudged in the windows
if you do not chisel day in day out
my name on the fuel-flask of love!
Oh, yes, and if you fail, when asleep, to write my name
with sweet and delicate
letters, as when we started out,
I shall sew up your lips
seriously, with catgut!
* Linda Maria Baros was born 1981 in Bucharest. She has lived in France since her late teens and has published many books in Romanian and French. She is a featured poet next month in www.corkpoetryfest.net
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