RIVER OF HIPPOPOTAMUSES

author:  eryk ostrowski
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It is a common fear, the fear of white
of the care and of what will be
or will never happen. And the pain
has big eyes
over green water
I blink my eyes

now I imagine that a stretcher is a mattress
drifting in warm murky waters;
a light wave between the distant shores is carriyng me
(still it isn’t the beginning, still it isn’t the end)
and in my ears your whisper: ‘This is the river of hippopotamuses’.
‘Yes! I recognize it’ I begin swimming among the thickets
the hippopotamuses are swimming up to me,
their big heads
will decide for me now—

I know we will leave the operating theatre together.



 
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