Under Chestnuts, Keele
Spring

Two stroll alongside, holding hands,
while toddlers try their clumsy steps
in chasing squirrels and picking grass,
and lonely runners stretch their legs,
absorbed in what their i-pods sing,
where sun slants in,
makes chestnuts - budding green -
throw shadows on a gravel path.
One beam strays here, reminding me
(engrossed in other people’s lives)
to turn my eyes and focus, please,
on essays and my laptop screen.


*

When Pillow Phantoms Play

Can you hear them tease you, the voices of the night?
They haunt dark chambers of your memory, looking for a fight.

Their whisper is a timeless hiss
That echoes through the mind.

Can you hear them tease you?
They ask:
What’s wrong?
What’s right?

You think you’ve reached the land of dreams.
Oh no, my Dear. Not quite.
They’ll find that ghost of long gone bliss
And drag it to the light.

To tease you. Tease,
And flaunt the memory of another night.

Your head sinks deeper in the pillow,
Heavy as the night.
Those memories are so old old old,
Return in see-through white.

But they continue,
Taunt you,
And hiss:
Despite, despite…

Can you hear them tease you, these phantoms of the night?

They haunt dark chambers of your memory,
Setting them alight.


Sophie Schünemann