WATERTIGHT: Poetry, by Monika Rinck

WATERTIGHT

 

He says the pain is a pond.

I say yes, the pain is a pond.

because the pain riddled by fish

lying in a basin and smells like rotten.

he says, and guilt is a pond.

I say yes, the blame too pond.

Because in a recess blame sloshing

and despite the outstretched arm

I get the armpit already twisted.

he says, lying is a pond.

I say yes, she also lies pond.

because in the summer, night

on the banks of lies you can have a picnic

and there always something you forget.

(Monika Rinck)

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