Poem

The rain on the 30^th April

came down as if on order.
I had watched the woman in the apartment across the yard,
meticulously wiping her window sills.

Meticulously.
And I thought – now the rain must come.

the rain must come the same way it always did
when dad meticulously washed the car.

The rain on 30^th April came with slowly building fury.
with teasing, drawn-out precision
easing-falling-easing then pouring.

pouring as a beat-drum-beat
of a landlocked city rhythm
and the tattoo of
tripping seasons.

On the other side of the yard,
under a pile of sad old bricks,
a sheet of elegantly rusting tin is
transformed into the percussion

of spring.

The beat of tiny droplets
the army of precipitation
and the bluegray shadows

breaking the broken light
deftly defying the colour of evening

The rain on 30^th April
came down without warning
and warm skin turned cold skin
heat evaporated like so many
forgotten headlines:

“Spring is here”

but that was just media hype.
and the rain, on the last day of April
came like ancient creeds carved
in concrete and dust

the blue light, the tear lights
split light
that sometimes breaks in waves,
and sometimes comes as rain.


we're off to Szekesfehervar this evening (well, this night actually, as the bus leaves at 11pm) and then Szombathely for Agi's ballagas tomorrow morning. And although there are all kinds of garden party plans for the long weekend, I would really like to come back to Budapest and get the flat in some kind of order and also try and get through the ton of work I've got on at the moment. Jutka and Cyn are also out to dinner this Friday and i long for female company of my own. I really feel the tug of trying to please too many people all at the same time, while not managing to please myself.

I gave the psychologist a miss today- with good reason- I had to take Pista to the vet (with a taxi driver who reminded me uncannily of Pascall) but I don't think I want to go see him again. I need to think more on this and get a more definite idea of what I want...

B's birthday is drawing closer - 25 can you bloody believe it!?!?! - not to mention my birthday - yes, 28!!!- and I'm really looking forward to both.

By the way - the poem - it just suddenly came, and it was lovely to feel that urge to write again. I shall never ever ignore it. No work can be that important.