Saturday, 21 September 2013  An Ode to Entanglement & Modigliani
Suite  Ode to Hands (written by Halina Poświatowska, translated
by Anna Gąsienica-Byrcyn)  Greetings to you my palms, my
grasping fingers, and my finger smashed by the car door. My
X-rayed palm looks like a sprained wing, like a tiny piece of
bone drawn by its own contour. My left hand's ring finger once
decorated by a band is widowed now, deprived of its adornment.
The one who gave me the ring long since has no fingers. His arms
are woven with the tree's roots into one.  My hands have so
often touched the frozen palms of the dead, and the warm, strong
palms of the living. They know how to caress unusually by touch
losing the space that separates existence from existence, and
heaven from earth. My hands knowing the pain of helplessness
cling to each other like two frightened birds, homeless, blindly
seeking everywhere the trace of your hands.  the body of my
garden  woven from the living and painful branches cries at
night recalling the down of