Poetry
PERCEPTIONS OF MARRIAGE
(Franz Kafka's stay in Riva del Garda 1913)
In the harbour the raft dips and rocks
as noon sun bleaches the shingle
and the town, swaddled in heat,
dozes in a trance under grape leaf veils.
The shutters are closed. On the wide empty bed the sheets are smoothed and pulled up. Creases remain, a memory of occupants caught in matrimony.
He draws the rope through the ring,
mounts the stone wharf,
lets the stillness flow over him,
watching the ducks curve and
dip their heads under their wings.
The bed is made. A nightshirt is folded and laid on the pillow. The paraphernalia of ritual clutters the dressing table and the faint smell of restlessness spoils the air.
He remembers letters sent,
words dispersed by hesitancy,
engagements promised then lost in panic
and there among the once white sheets
his father clamps a hand on his mother
and he is born again, dragged into the fusty room.
In the heat of the day against a yellow wall, gaudy geraniums fill tubs of lake water. In courtyards out of sight from the harbour, fathers berate their sons.
Published in The Interpreter's House 2009
