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Words From Mitchell

June 7, 2010

Blood and Water

Sometime that year the clouds grew darker,
Little by little until it was if
They’d always been the color grey
That only precedes a heavy rain.

Three years ago in Sweden I saw this color.

It was before a kiss and while
I walked into town alongside a river
Frozen still.

With no space between earth and clouds,

The world was one color broken

Only by old light from dim yellow streetlamps.

In the middle of the stopped river
I felt water flowing deep beneath
The cold surface. The pulsed rushing
Travelled cleanly through me, felt much like
The heart of something too old to have
A name, a part of the earth that had become
Unplaced in the progression of time,
And when I bent down to touch the ice,
A part unfamiliar cut my hand.

Blood and water.

What is there to say about blood and water
That isn’t said everyday, when we wake up,

See the grey mist of our lives closing in
Around us, and still get out of bed to wander the fog?

When I reached town, snow began to fall.
Not quickly, not slowly, it was just there,
And like the river, probably always had been.

I tried to buy alcohol, but because my passport

Was tucked discretely into a pair of pants at home,

Wasn’t allowed.

A pale girl with pale hair and wind in her eyes
Bought a bottle for me, and we shared it
Sitting on a bench by the river gathering snow.

As everything became unfocused in
The depth of the dark, we finished. She stood,
Snow fell from her hair, was caught by the black
Fabric on her shoulders, and rested content.

I said thank you, and nice to meet you, and good luck,
In the words she had taught me, and we
Both laughed at the foreign words coming from my mouth.

She kissed me, tasting of ice and alcohol, and left.

She, walking back to town, and I, towards the forest,
To find the path along the river from which I’d come.

contributed by Mitchell Burbick that he wrote from Sweden

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