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Arent They - Blog Posts
may you be safe among the stars my dearest son
I think we’re all broken,
you whisper to the dark shimmering water lapping against the hull.
I can see our reflections—
You, halved in white and
Me, fading to black like an old film reel.
Broken how?
I don’t really need you to answer, not really. We’re cursed,
I know and you know, too, so you just laugh.
Even that sounds like shattering glass.
What is it about stars and streetlights and silent European nights
that tear us open to the core?
Cursed, you whisper,
And suddenly thousands of years worth of history and ghosts and
fiends are clamouring for release beneath
The liquid obsidian rocking the boat.
Cursed, I whisper, but remind me:
Aren’t curses simply blessings from below?
.
— Cruise on the Danube (y.c.)