Old Couple


Manolis Aligizakis

Long and narrow rusted table
hardly stands motionless
bleached out tablecloth as though
thrown in debts of river for a long time
faded like her eyes gazing the sea’s
agony that reaches the foreign land
where her son has vanished

shade of grapevine thick like a sin
and harsh like a thought pounding
the memory that light may be reborn

and he brings two plates
pours the wine in two glasses
small plate with olives piece of feta

and the sigh simply camouflaged
by a smile as the lone cicada insists
in disturbing monologue of their loneliness

finally he sits next to her
above them the grapevine laughs
as his calloused fingers touch
her wrinkled hand and the sun
somewhere higher than everybody
roars with laughter when old man says
to her…you forgot to cut the salad

Manolis Aligizakis