By Angeliki Ampelogianni
If I close my eyes, just a bit,
the knife’s edge of the land
just where the blue meets green
meets brown and dark shadows,
I can almost pretend
that there – look! – is another cliff’s edge,
in another sweet country of blues
and whites. I can almost convince myself
that the sand beneath my feet
is my golden pebbled sand, where I built
castles and cooked seaweed pasta soups.
If I just barely close my eyes, just like that,
the land is where Xerxes anchored his ships,
where villagers now hang octopuses
in the sun and drink ouzo at midday.
The sea where I first swam,
blue merging in with lilac and crystal clear.
My reflection twin mirrored in the water.
I can just about see it all. The waves
in front of me, just there, slowly caressing
the shore, the borders of its existence,
despite the racing wind.
When rain drops start pouring
from my eyes, I allow the water to fall.
I can almost pretend that this is my sea too.