“and then we met an old friend Mr. Merkli
who showed us his bottle of cyanide, ‘just in case’”
–Eva Ráth Stricker's exile journal as a WWII refugee
Sofia Ortiz, arbusto, 2020 (Artist Website)
Watercolor on paper, 31 x 41 cm
we used to believe in chronological order
until the soul spoke up crossing war zones
released from strictures of hallway and bedpan
in a nest of pillows and music simultaneous
with a chaotic convoy of Transylvanian
stud farm horses then trapped by mine-fields
and snow blocking sheer mountain passes
my mother and her brother pass time
taking bets on their chances of survival
while searching for meadow flowers
confined and unconfined as she slips
through meshes of hours and borders
leaving us an empty bed
lock-down and quiet streets
sheaves of unwritten pages, the raw
ocean at Garrapata and its milky rush
to be thrown like birds, into the wild air