By Monika Trotula
Round like a Passover pancake,
a watchful and silent moon
has ascended over the rooftops,
Kaddish prayers have long diffused,
candles flicker out
dybbuks lurking in the corners
study the white gowns and loose black hair of the sleeping women.
Mice prowl in the walls,
stone wells tranquil,
olive oil lamps keep quiet vigil
while their flames dance with the shadows of the brooms and fire hooks.
Commodes and cupboards being covered in dust
and all the creatures inert and waxen.
Sleep, living things,
the night guardian
has paused the clock now.
About Monika Trotula:
Monka Trotula grew up in Poland and currently lives on the English seaside. She is a sea-kayaker, an occasional video artist, a guinea-pig-herd leader and a former moderator (motterator!) of a live stream about otters. Trotula often writes about the sea, forgotten worlds and the extrapolation of non-human consciousness. Her short story 'One nude dude' was published in the 'Hitchhiking anthology' (Ha!art, Poland, 2005) and her poetry has been published in Lucent Dreaming, The Writers' Club, Graveyard Zine and Erato Magazine.