Trafika Europe 8 - Romanian Holiday

Poems

KANDIL MOUNTAIN

They go up the mountain, yank thyme from the rocks to send to their aunts below. It’s quiet there, among those who’ve sold their shotguns to the shadows. Rattlesnakes populate the cracks,  the creeks where even you can be a witness  to the path of a dead apostle or a martyr’s final step. Then the rainless thunder, then the harvesters of beets eight cliffs below  lift their canvas bundles and seek the old gods, the gods that proclaimed war a nuisance and instead lit bonfires in the valleys. Two generations have lived and died here, the fathers

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