Boating Accident

When my sister died

I had so many tears

they formed a wild river bed

through my brand new sheets.

Others like mum and dad

did not find the strength to cry

or the courage or the necessity

but maybe they, too, cried in secret

surrounded by white cotton.

This morning I woke up

with the funeral fresh in my mind,

- don't they say memories fade -

and I fear for all of us

that our tears

still inundate our dreams

and make us the ones that drown

every night anew.

(first published in Lead me to the Waters: Selected Texts from the Daniil Pashkoff Prize)