(Story of my parents)
I search the big trees above me,
follow the path of my mother’s force.
Replacement: Daci, my mothers’ first lover, gone,
my father back from Stalin’s gulag.
Massive dripping of ideology,
the worse outnumber the bad,
Decisions and instinct of a 19 year old,
new ideas of working class demagogue optimism,
while her sewing machine rattles.
Hot summer excursion, forest walk.
Betting time, the die has been cast.
New bridge
I’m there, the whole rollercoaster,
runaway train cut into the blue sky.
Genes, DNI, amino acid gambling,
next few months and
as a little, rechargeable frog finish my first cycle.
Week long struggle to get on the stage
Mother bleeds and never stops.
Frog life reality, Mum’s learning
voices, to understand, croaks, sounds to etch in the heart.
New bridge
Father gives me his funny name, all right!
And leaves,… was a quick job,
he’s his own bureaucrat.
She is sobs, bleeds,
Starts to forget, but she has her frog life to live,
just about out of water.
Young mother, young child, young country.
Behind eyelids,
old wolves haul everywhere,
Another new bridge
Crystallized mind, crystallized muscles.
Derelict homes, unknown draws full of sweaty, worn masks.
Replacement again: Gyula ( my father) spins out
Another man comes, enters with emptiness of the desert,
Stubborn taste of the sand,
At the age of six,
I smell of grape and leather in the wind.
Mádi = the nickname of young Mother Gyula Friewald © 12/08/2011
FRIEWALD 