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Crumpled Paper

An unused piece of paper,
causally torn off a notebook page,
is open for suggestions
as long as it isn't polluted/embellished
with calculations
the strength of a Nobel Prize,
rumours of war
or novelist Sirkka Laine's list of grocery items
to purchase at the country store in Vuoriniemi
one summer day in 1985
with me, Sune & Suoma
at the Porkala summer cottage by Lake Saimaa,
intoxicated with love
that we naively expected to last indefinitely,
the beers cooled in a natural well,
Shivkumar Sharma's santoor version
of a North Indian raga,
that we renamed Raga Karjala,
on Sune's cassette player out on the porch

- but as soon as the space
that's been so free, so open, so virgin
is utilized,
whether with groundbreaking discoveries/inventions
or absentminded board meeting doodles
or this poem,
and the love has been duly tarnished,
the undecided future & the active now
are transformed into a rigid past
that we can ponder
but not change, in essence,
except through old Russian Communist-style retouching,
so the eternal love by Lake Saimaa
is dead but in diaries and distorted memories,
and so is Sirkka, I hear,
since 3rd October 2023,
no matter how feverishly I fill the margins
with ever smaller letters.

So I crumple the paper in my hand
and throw it in the waste basket
with a gesture of disgust

Fri vers (Fri form) av Ingvar Loco Nordin VIP
Läst 43 gånger
Publicerad 2023-10-31 10:17

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