to Anne-Marie

We’d have peace if we meet
at a cemetery, she says,

but once there graves open,
the dead ask for headlines.

The good news is that I am
in the same place as Moses

walking around life when
sands shift. I reach my desert
retouching roots that match
the colour of parents’ home.

I forgot where they live now;
as close as my skin, as far as

a memory from when I was five.
There must be a house nearby
where someone stays awake
to warm up my bottle of milk.

Instead of looking for it, I hold
a telescope aimed at the sky

marching past stray pebbles.




Maria Stadnicka
Montage: Claire Palmer

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