Your other name

The river, fat and glistening green, slithers through the city
through the church yard, covered in windflowers

Their petal confetti tore up winter so that spring arrived
empty and unwritten with a naked, confessing light

Only oval hymns from the other side, puncture the silence

I think that our undeadly names cling to the ones we carve in monuments
and I wonder what your name is now

His head is heavy on my shoulder, shying away from everything
Late in the evening, with a sharper glow around our edges, we walk home

His tense muscles move faster towards buildings, corners, angles
I want to scratch his skin and feel his weight

I know it’s impossible, but I pretend he is you
and that you can force me to scream

 

 

Erika Kamlert has contributed poems to a number of Swedish literary journals including Pequod, Papi, Komma, and Ordkonst. She worked as a teacher in creative writing and isΒ now translating her poetry into English.