You were gigantic
when I saw you there –
gigantic and subtle,
like the pink rose.
the smallest tall girl in the world –
hiding from the beggar at the door –
he spoke my language
and I didn’t want people to know.
It was built over a mire,
which explains the difference in height
between the chancel and the nave –
it smells like burnt Templars,
it smells like tears
from the Franco-Prussian war.
And did you go up the tower –
I did -
Were you breathing in there?
Or did the walls fall in on you? –
they did on me.
From the top
I could see the construction site
at the edge of the city –
you were gigantic –
than the resting cranes.
It was a Sunday.
This poem first appeared at http://www.chrisdenengelsman.nl and on the author's personal blog.
Anca Rotar is a Romanian-born writer of poetry and fiction. She was driven to writing by her love of stories and verse, as well as by an ever-increasing fascination with mysteries and the unknown. Her biggest complaint is that there are too many interesting things in the world and hardly enough time to discover them all.
The Ekphrastic Review
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