Réka Nyitrai


Poem about a bird that lives in my pocket

This is a poem
about a bird
that lives in the hem
of my pocket.
In truth,
it is my grandmother
who is banished from heaven.
She must live
in my pocket
featherless,
wingless
and beakless...
until my mother
either eats
or forgives her.



Poem pulled from a magician’s hat

This is a poem
I pulled out of a
magician’s hat,
found abandoned
on a bench.
As soon as I sit
next to it, the hat begins
to speak—
It says that, hidden
beneath its inner layer,
there is a poem 
its former owner,
the magician
wrote for me.
Indeed, inside the hat
there is a piece of paper
on which it is scribbled:
“Breath!”



Poem written by my mother

This is a poem 
my mother wrote
last night, with my fingers,
while I slept -
Stop worrying about me!
Overall I’m fine, though
my knees still hurt when it rains or snows.
I have lost weight and sleep well. 
I am wiser and kinder;
have stopped blaming others
for my mistakes.
Lately, I even made up with your father.
I miss you! I miss you all!
I miss cooking for you. 
Just yesterday, I dreamt
that we were in the kitchen
and I was making jam; 
plum jam, your favorite,  
with plenty of honey and cinnamon.
My mouth is forever shut
yet, even here, I crave sweetness.
Please don’t tell your brother that 
I am lonely and sad. 

Réka Nyitrai is a spell, a sparrow, a lioness's tongue — a bird nest in a pool of dusk. She is the recipient of a Touchstone Distinguished Books Award for 2020 for her debut haiku volume While Dreaming Your Dreams (Valencia Spain: Mono Ya Mono Books, 2020).

 
 

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