Page 3 - Reflectoem | Issue 04
P. 3

A   L E A F

                                                                                       Małgorzata   Borzeszkowska,   a
                                                                                       history  and  English  teacher,  lives
                                                                                       in  Poland.  She  has  been  writing
                                                                                       poems  for  nearly  20  years,  being
                                                                                       rewarded  in  many  smaller  and
                                                                                       larger poetry contests. Her poems
                                                                                       were  published  in  two  poetic
                                                                                       books and in many anthologies of
                                                                                       poetry.  Poems  were  printed  in
                                                                                       several literary periodicals, as well
        M A Ł G O R Z A T A                                                            as  in  the  online  Helicopter  and
                                                                                       Fabrica Librorum.


        B O R Z E S Z K O W S K A





       I look at the sky through a sawn leaf,
       it is good that I only see small fragments,
       extracts from the blue cocoon of the day
       I can move the leaf to the right or further north
       or south-
       whatever comes to mind

       I can cover the ugliness, cover what I don't
       want to see;
       I wish fear and stupidity were objects
       - I could bring the worn leaf closer to my eye
       and they would be gone forever
       I look into this chafing and see the Scottish
       tartan of clouds, beech trees and pines
       dried grass, all of them like puzzle


       puddles in the middle of the forest road made
       of pieces,
       I can arrange everything again,
       erase from space and time what should have
       long since disappeared


       just looking at you I take the leaf away from my
       eye
       and so you are like a sand grandpa cut out of

       colored paper,
       you bring good dreams
       and you stick me together when I am frozen
       with fear,
       when God looks at me through the sawn leaves
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