My sheets

Jag ska börja måla bilder till mina dikter. Tänker hur jag ska reda ut denna.

Här sitter jag i min säng med lakan gjort av lin. Lakanen som gjordes av min mormors mormor. Som hon sedan gav till sitt barn, som sedan gav det till min mor. Som jag sedan stal. Fläckar av blod finns kvar. Utslitna sömmar i var kant. Jag håller om mina nakna ben, biter mig i knät. Mina ben är redan fulla av hål. Jag kniper ögonen. Konsentrerar mig. Lyssnar efter historia. Linet tjuter mitt släktarv. Ju närmre min skapelse den kommer, ju starkare blir tjutet. Stopp. Öronbedövad tystnad.

I’ll start painting pictures of my poems. Right now I am thinking how to create a picture of this one.

Here I sit in my bed with sheets made of flax. The sheets made by my grandmother’s grandmother. As she then gave to her child, who then gave it to my mother. As I then stole. Stains of blood remains. Frayed seams at each edge. I hug my bare legs, bite me in the knee. My legs are already full of holes. I pinch my eyes. Concentrate. Listening for history. The flax is howling my family heritage. The closer my creation it gets, the stronger the shout becomes. Stop. Ear Stunned silence.

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One comment

  1. yz art gallery · April 22, 2012

    Your writing stile amazes and memorizes me!

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