reading the book thief on good friday–

street musician in stuttgart

street musician in stuttgart

.

it’s cause you cannot put a piece of sky
on someone’s table,
hoping that he wakes&understands
what makes me pull words
from the fried skin of a trout that we ate by the pond
on ice cold benches&

you cannot paint it– there’s a row of sketches still
from stuttgart, waiting to be finished
an australian guy with a didgeridoo,
a guitar player, awkward out of shape
what they really mean, you can’t see
by only looking at them

jesus died on a friday, 3pm
as my husband reads the story
i sit leaned against his chest

“what dough would you take to bake an easterlamb?”
my daughter asks
“you could google it”
“i wanna know from you”
“ok”
&now the scent of fresh baked cake

takes me back to easter sundays
at my aunt’s kitchen table in bavaria,
smell of bread, milk, warmth of woodfire from the stove
a pyramid of thoughts//emotions
tightly tied together,

&how would you capture that?
i put down the book
“wanna go for a walk?” he asks
we collect random things,
someday and to someone they’ll make sense,
my daughter plays the panpipe in her room,

“ok, let’s go” i say, “i don’t mind the rain”

& in my lap the book breathes
myriads of untold stories

21 responses to “reading the book thief on good friday–

  1. great opening line on not being able to put sky on someones plate…smiles…no it takes more than just looking…what a turn in jesus dying too,,,i dont know how we capture it though sometimes we do…and maybe its a bit of magic in our paint and ink…so many stories for sure…love the sketch too claudia…

  2. and the beauty is that Sunday he and hope both arise.

    For our holiday, my wife makes homemade ravioli with walnut sauce… and as much as we love it, I am glad she saves it for the special days.

  3. … winter is slowly letting go of us here … can’t wait for them street musicians and folkfest season to start … it’s part of the essence of the lazy hazy days of summer for me … that and the smell of freshly cut grass … hmmm🙂

  4. So often I don’t even know what to say after reading your poems, I just know that they have touched me. I see the words you paint into life.

    And the book thief… one of my all-time favorites.

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