Irène

"feu dans le sang"

(Fire in the blood)

"l'attente est érotique"

(The wait is erotic)

I wonder what you wrote just for you?

Between the margins?

Inside your address book?

I wonder how your letters were?

How many did you throw away?

Did you have secret lines

Only one person would understand?

I just reached 30

You’re 39

I wish I could ask you how this goes

—-

where loss is

How it feels

Did you feel it coming?

Did you write regardless ?

—-

I feel this guilt, like acid in my chest,

When I think about the things I don’t say

I reserve the right to write whatever I want…

—-

Nothing is permanent

And I think about that heat

I think about that loss

Like words,forgotten unused…

How many did we lose?

—-

I pour her tea

She writes on the sides of the pages of her journal

She has a novel she’s working on

She doesn’t think she’ll finish it

We can hear them coming

And it occurs to us

You can hear and feel

Life around you this

Absurd chess game we try so hard at

love coming

storms coming

These boots coming

She won’t finish this novel…

She’s 39

feu dans le sang

I drink my tea

She’s here for a moment

I close my eyes

And

She’s gone

Like so many things

Blown away by a storm

The sun comes out

And I wonder

If we missed her,

I wonder how many more like her

We lost…

Quotes from

Irène Némirovsky

Bleeding Ink #1,369

We get the days

We’re allowed

All of these

And none

Are guaranteed

The earth gives up the rain

And

Doesn’t claim it

Possess it

It always returns

Like the dew in the morning

The tide

There with the moon …

I don’t want to possess you

You are not poetry

But even so…

—-

Is there a word...

to express

slow heat

simmering

your eyes

your lips

until we touch again

I can still feel your kiss …

Hurt

I will sit with this hurt

I will pour it a drink

But I won’t get drunk

I turn it over

I observe it

I remind it

That I walked in here

And I will walk out

I clean my hands

I leave the table

I have to move forward

I have to stay in the race

This is temporary

Life is too short

To get hung up

By hurt

This shadow of myself

It’s part of me

But it does not define me…

Soon it will be in the past

It will not be grey

It will not be overcast

It will just be another day

In the year

I will do the work

I will grow

And I will leave the table

Being better for it.