They called me the hyacinth girl
‘Read me the hyacinth part.’
‘Why?’
‘Its my favorite part.’
‘Are you the hyacinth girl?’
‘No, no, I’m the speaker.’
‘The speaker is a man.’
‘But I still had a hyacinth girl’
He was sat by the window
His hair curled, face angled
toward the light, I could not speak, and my eyes failed,
I was neither living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Empty and desolate the sea.
‘Read me the hyacinth part.’
‘Why?’
‘Its my favorite part.’
‘Are you the hyacinth girl?’
‘No, no, I’m the speaker.’
‘The speaker is a man.’
‘But I still had a hyacinth girl’
He was sat by the window
His hair curled, face angled
toward the light, I could not speak, and my eyes failed,
I was neither living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Empty and desolate the sea.
- Jane Potthast, 2012 / Tilbake