Lena Kallergi

 

 

Poem for Dane Zajc

 

If our ancestors are people

whose homes we can visit

after they’re gone,

 

if we can sleep in their beds

and open their windows

to look at the tree they have looked at

in the afternoons,

 

and keep an image in our heads

of the same wardrobe,

the same small balcony,

 

and if their portraits on the walls

-honorary-

may haunt us in a sleepless night,

 

if our families are people

we never know well enough

though we need

to keep searching for details,

to look online for more of their words

in a language we understand,

 

and if we need to be able

to spell and articulate

their name correctly -

 

then you are my lost uncle

my mother’s distant cousin

my grandfather’s mysterious friend:

he mentioned you sometimes

but my mind wandered.

 

Then, you never really left this place

where I have been allowed to stay

for a few summer days

because we loved the same art form.

 

Then

I, a daughter you never met,

inside your last home

think about you,

write to you.