She went to confession,
asked the priest for atonement,
and he said, "I saw you
waiting for the bus in that frost yesterday—
boulders were cracking with cold—
and one hour later when I returned
you were still there:
that's penance enough."
That night she dreamed
of walking to the margin of town
looking for a tree to cut down.
In her sleep, someone was splitting wood
in front of her window. She could hear
his breath as he heaved the ax,
the bolt as he hit
right in the middle.
He mumbled something under his breath.
The words themselves she couldn't decipher;
just woke up and found a stash of wood
next to her door
stacked like a sculpture.
Ice splintered into the walls
just enough not to crack the pipes.
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Issue 61
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Editor's Note
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Poetry
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Fiction
Issue > Poetry
Lucia Cherciu
Lucia Cherciu teaches English at SUNY / Dutchess in Poughkeepsie, New York. Her poetry has appeared in Paterson Literary Review, The Cortland Review, Connotation Press, Memoir, Connecticut Review and elsewhere. She writes both in English and in Romanian but does not translate her own work. She is the author of two books of poetry, Lepãdarea de Limbã—The Abandonment of Language (Editura Vinea 2009) and Altoiul Râsului—Grafted Laughter (Editura Brumar 2010).Poetry
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