Romana Iorga

The Other Side

1.

I cradle it in the palm of my hand.
An eggshell, still warm.

Something

hatched here—its scent

clings to my dreamskin.

I can almost feel its

weight, this thing I had and now,

don’t.            All that’s left
is a teacup, neither full,

nor empty.

 
On the other side of sleep
the wind

is hammering

a nail

into the moon.

Seagulls

break the shore

of a word, tired wings

skimming its surface.
A silent ballet.

Far below,

the finned shadow

glides upward.

2.

Abandoned nest.

Fledgling

stretching its wings. Easy to read,
such loss.

But the teacup?

 
Did you drink from it,
you ask.                       We sit

at the wobbly table,

the one you promised

to fix years ago,

before we sold the house.

Another family

lives there and yet,

here we are, quite aware

we’re dreaming.

Are we even

on the same continent?

You laugh and tip the waiter.
 
There’s a line for the bathroom.
It’s unisex and a man

saunters out who looks

just like you.

I turn

to point out the resemblance,
but you’re

no longer there.

And when I look back,
neither is the man.
 
The cup awaits where I left it,
tipped over, a drop

of seawater

spilling onto the tablecloth,

followed

by a rogue wave, and then,

the whole sea.

Originally from Chisinau, Moldova, Romana Iorga lives in Switzerland. She is the author of two poetry collections in Romanian. Her work in English has appeared or is forthcoming in various journals, including New England Review, Gulf Coast, Salamander, as well as on her poetry blog at clayandbranches.com. Her favorite sweet is tiramisu!