Poetry (31)

Hello Escritori,

I hoped that Poetry Sundays would make me feel less vulnerable. I wanted to vomit writing this, in kind of “feeling naked, ahhh!” kind of way.

Oh, by the way, Happy Valentine’s if it means anything.


Tu Me Manques*


Is the cessation

Of the endlessness

Of waiting.

And the sensation

On the edge of

A rush of blood.


I feel like

I have seen your face

All my life

In the distance

Of a dreamscape.


It is such

A small thing,


To perceive,

Like a child’s


When hearing

Another’s heart beat.

Or stumbling

On a moment of distortion:

Like looking through

The wrong end

Of a telescope

To catch the moon

In motion.


And yet I find

I have a tendency

To fixate, and

An anthropologist’s

Eagerness to deduce

The story of your face.


Your face is far away

By my lens.

It was as small

As a thumbnail

And such life was there

In the image

But so much delicate,

smudged colour too

That I thought

It was a painting:

A miniature of you.


A piece of work

So vibrant

It could nestle

By my heart,

I’d draw you out

By any means because

Action is called

Animation too:


I would venture

To impart

That it is


A start.


A meeting

Is a sight,

A kiss

Is a taste,

And all of this


The close of loneliness.


(© Copyright Pola Negri 26/01/2016.)

KEY: * French for the phrase ‘I miss you’ although rather beautifully, direct translation is: ‘You are missing from me’.


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