Tag Archives: Eva Xanthopoulos

The Curious Case of a 23 Year Old Child

by Eva Xanthopoulos


I desire to know
what makes you walk
with that stride that tells
the entire cosmos you’re swollen
with the joy that possesses
a child the moment he sees
a firefly for the first time
land on his little left hand
When I made this curiosity known
to you, you merely gave
me a tiny lantern and pointed
to the core of me
“Go there and search for–
not the you you see
in reflective glass
but the youthful
you that never grows
a day older.”

 

I traveled
within myself for years until I found
my inner child playing hopscotch.
I joined her only to find that
she was still me:
Teenager, Adult, Elder
meant nothing in the main
scheme of things
It’s what you do with those
wings that were granted
to you since infancy.

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The Hourglass Lass

by Eva Xanthopoulos


And say an hour glass had
eyes
What would she say?
Her descending sands
say it all
But what if her sands
would ascend–
not fall?

 

She’d spray a time-
less
ness
into the strato-
sphere
and engulf
the entirety
of earthly
atmo-
sphere
in that Present
many of us never
open
Some of us, we’ll
cut off the ticking-
tocking-talking
hands and embrace
the clock’s roundness,
everlasting

This Thing I Can’t Seem To Explain

by Eva Xanthopoulos


If this “thing”
whatever it is
had skin
I’d tattoo
a bold infinity
symbol on it

 

If it was merely two
fingers flailing in astro-
sphere                I’d band
them together
with celestial string
and enjamb them in
cyclical golden aura

 

Too bad “it” has neither
flesh nor fingers to clasp

 

but maybe that’s what caused the clash,
Still a splash in the realm we cannot yet see.

 

We’re floating in outer space,
limbless. And our limitless
minds can do nothing about it.
un-
less

 

logic
renders

 

use-
less