Clara Pasian 

Insignificant Earthquake

The dagger you left
Whose blade was blunt you claimed
Hangs over my head

You removed it from your chest
To stab mine instead 

This is the suspended sentence  
The honed dart that drops your blood 
On my trembling body

Despite all the shivers 
I won’t let it crucify me  

Find yourself excuses 
Call me a ventriloquist, 
A starving lover or a narcissist
Your finger points at a pile of lies  

If I shouted out my feelings 
My voice would have torn off
The skin from your face  

It is the raw sheer silk
Of a poppy picked with a jolt
And restitched by rage  

I’m overfed with the wine 
Our feet have made 
One day I will throw it up 
Make my own holy liquor 
And enjoy it alone  

I saw you from my window 
Nonchalantly walking on by 
A few flickers may have quivered 
But something greater radiated 
Peace – pure and light 
A red balloon floating in my head  


I caught sight of you 
Walking to the forest
Pines of amnesia   

Silence remains 
So does your face 
But the ghost you’ve become 
Is even more beautiful 

He surrounded my heart
With barbwire ivy 
And his whispers 
Itched my lids 

I also come nearer those trees
Standing as melting candles  
In search of lost solace 

It could be found 
Hidden behind nettles and hollies 
These webs of horns 

I may have left dots of blood
On my snow-white hands 
A tissue of skin 

It took me so much time 
To find the answer 
Of dosing away the pain 

You need to forget 
Dance the way 
Wind carries raindrops away 
From the trees 

These were the days

These were the days 
With you
While I was fishing for compliments 
And you came out as a rainbow fish 
My creased hands picked you
All wiggling and youthful  
It was the sun on my belt 
That drew you to me

These were the days
When we tamed each other 
Under a drizzling honey sun
And we both shared a spoon
To taste this golden lava  

These were the days 
When I drank nothing but in the river 
Where you said you lived 
Kisses were slow and wet then
And our arms could hold the whole earth  

These were the days
In which I sang 
A love like ours would never die
I pushed your face 
To any poems’ lines 
And I wasn’t afraid to smile 

There was a day 
When you said 
Old and grey
You needed to hide your tears 
In the water 
So you dove and swam away 

There were days
Where there was nothing left 
But mud
The spring was gone 
So I filled it up 
With a course of Rhum 
And used a beer bottle bait 
In hope of finding your specter
Meanwhile I remembered 

These were the days
Twenty-seven days 
My lucky number 

I would look for you 
All day long 
Bending over the river 
I could have fallen and drowned 
In this bitter orange flow 
It wouldn’t have mattered 
You would have kept swimming 

These were the days
I need to get over them 

Flights, Issue Seven, December 2022