Malena Mörling: "See High Above"

      You step outside
into the early morning
            in autumn—

And at the exact same instant
      a scrap of paper
floats over—

             High in the blue
blustery library
      of the air—

You look up
             and you see it rushing
and lifting

      even higher
into the transparent layers
             of the sky—

And at once,
      you know
it is a message—

             A message
that there is no message.
      The scrap of paper

is just a scrap of paper!
             It is weightless
and free—

      The world is just
the world—
             And you are exactly

who you are—
      Also floating now
high inside

             the invisible
balloon of
      another moment.

"See High Above" by Malena Mörling. Text as published in Astoria (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2006).

Art credit: Untitled image by unknown photographer.


 

Malena Mörling: "Gone"

          The world
is gone
      like the exact
shape of a cloud
          or the exact shape

of a hand waving
      in the sunlight
from across
          a crowded
train-station
      parking-lot
to another hand
          that waves back.

Come to think of it,
      everything up to now
is gone.
          And I have also
already left
      even though
I still ride
          the train
through the outskirts
      of the city.

And I still sit
          by the window,
the filthy
      train-window
while what is left
          of the demolished
buildings
      go past
and the empty
          billboards
and the transitory
      architecture.

It's amazing
          we're not
more amazed.
      The world
is here
          but then it's gone
like a wave
      traveling toward
other waves.

          Or like
the delicate white
      spaceships
of the Dogwood
          that float
as if there were
      no gravity,
as if there were
          no moments
isolated from
      any other
moments
          anywhere.

"Gone" by Malena Mörling, from Astoria: Poems. © University of Pittsburgh Press, 2006.

Photography credit: Detail from "Left-behind children say goodbye to their migrant-working parents," by Xinhua/Ju Huanzong, 2010 (originally color).


 

Malena Mörling: "Visiting"

In the shape of a human body
I am visiting the earth;
the trees visit
in the shapes of trees.
Standing between the onions
and the dandelions
near the ailanthus and the bus stop,
I don't live more thoroughly
inside the mucilage of my own skull
than outside of it
and not more behind my eyes
than in what I can see with them.
I inhale whatever air
that grates breathe in the street.
My arms and legs still work,
I can run if I have to
or sit motionless purposefully
until I am here and I am not here
the way death is present
in things that are alive
like salsa music
and the shrill laughter of the bride
as she leaves the wedding
or the bald child playing jacks
outside the wigshop.

"Visiting" by Malena Mörling, from Ocean Avenue. © New Issues Poetry & Prose, 1999.

Image credit: "Scarlet Dancer," oil painting by Bill Brauer (originally color).

 

Malena Mörling: "Happiness"

How far away is your happiness?
            How many inches?
How many yards?
            How many bus rides to work
and back?
            How many doorways
and stairwells?
            How many hours
awake in the dark
            belly of the night
which contains
            all the world’s bedrooms,
all dollhouse-sized?
            How far away is your happiness?
How many words?
            How many thoughts?
How much pavement?
            How much thread
in the enormous sewing machine
            of the present moment?

"Happiness" by Malena Mörling, from American Poetry Now, edited by Ed Ochester. © University of Pittsburgh Press, 2007.

Photograph: Untitled, by Elizabeth Krumbach (originally color, horizontal).