Tuesday, 12 November 2019




POEMS BY MICHAEL TOPA: UNFINISHED BUSINESS



The Street Cleaners



Talking with a friend

Downtown outside late at night

Blur of passersby



You don’t see what is

Happening but someone takes

The moments away





I think I’m one of the street cleaners myself: I sweep the past into my novels, not as it happened, but tidying it up until it fits the story.



The Headhunter of Hands



At night

I go down to the lake

And search for your hands



I find a certain antiquity

In bones tinkling under the moon

Stone flowers amid lacustrine trees



In the blue-baited dawn

The bandicoots return to the shaggy black moss

Growing quietly on the north side of a tree



They stuff what is left

Of your hands

Into their pouches.



Lacustrine trees! blue-baited dawn! I’d like to go there to finish the business and be happy.