Connie’s Reviews > The Collected Poems of Chika Sagawa > Status Update
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Connie
is 37% done
“The laughter we have today
Becomes captive to the eternal”
— May 25, 2023 05:29PM
Becomes captive to the eternal”
Connie
is 36% done
DAY OF SNOW
Butterflies flutter daily.
Tearing off the flower patterns from windows
They collect upon the parasol
Spread across your chest.
Reflected in white as they pass by
I chase them and chase them
But the road is long.
— May 25, 2023 05:27PM
Butterflies flutter daily.
Tearing off the flower patterns from windows
They collect upon the parasol
Spread across your chest.
Reflected in white as they pass by
I chase them and chase them
But the road is long.
Connie
is 21% done
“People throw rings at the sky.
In order to capture the suns.”
— May 25, 2023 07:13AM
In order to capture the suns.”
Connie
is 20% done
IT IS SNOWING
Upstairs from us, a grand ball!
Devious angels dance in disorder, and out of their steps fall shards of deathly white snow.
Death is among the holly leaves. Crawling quietly in the attic. Gnawing at my finger. Anxiously.
And then at midnight—it falls at the storefront of the glass shop, exposing its stark white back.
Old love and time are buried, and the earth devours them.
— May 25, 2023 07:10AM
Upstairs from us, a grand ball!
Devious angels dance in disorder, and out of their steps fall shards of deathly white snow.
Death is among the holly leaves. Crawling quietly in the attic. Gnawing at my finger. Anxiously.
And then at midnight—it falls at the storefront of the glass shop, exposing its stark white back.
Old love and time are buried, and the earth devours them.
Connie
is 19% done
RUSTY KNIFE
Pale blue dusk scales the window.
A lamp dangles from the sky like the neck of a woman.
Murky dark air permeates the room—spreads out a single blanket.
The books, ink, and rusty knife seem to be gradually stealing the life out of me.
While everything sneered,
Night was already in my hands.
— May 25, 2023 06:57AM
Pale blue dusk scales the window.
A lamp dangles from the sky like the neck of a woman.
Murky dark air permeates the room—spreads out a single blanket.
The books, ink, and rusty knife seem to be gradually stealing the life out of me.
While everything sneered,
Night was already in my hands.
A horse came tearing down the mountain and went mad. From that day on she eats blue food.
Summer dyes the women's eyes and sleeves blue, then whirls merrily in the town square.
The customers on the terrace smoke so many cigarettes that the tinny sky scribbles rings like the ladies’ hair. I am thinking of throwing away my sad memories like a handkerchief. If only I could forget the love and regret and the patent leather shoes!
I was spared from having to jump from the second floor.
The sea rises to heaven.