The Moon

Andrew brought this poem to our group the night our theme was “Poets You Can’t Get Rid Of.” He wrote it in the archaic Albanian spoken by his family. He then translated it into English. Hearing him read it aloud was remarkable: before I heard it in Albanian  I could sense the beauty the words contained, even though they were rough and strange to my ears. My intuition was probably more at work than my brain.

The Moon

Hunza

Mu lurree ktu

Vehtem

Put shochk

Vareyiun

Put gyehgen lullaht

Chuh thonyun

Koosh tu doh?

Ooh tu doh.

*

The Moon

Left me here

Alone

To watch

The wind

Listen to the flowers

That say

Who wants you?

I want you.

Andrew Accario

The poem is so pure. So full of love and hope.

Hope is my bridge between winter and spring.

As our group gathered in my living room this winter, as Andrew read, I could see the base of an oak tree heaped with stones and empty acorn shells left behind by the squirrels. But, I knew that underneath that rugged crust, lilies of the valley waited. Now tall and green, their creamy white flowers bring the scent of dignified innocence to the warm May air.

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