Share this postGlinka Cries at Nightnotebookenthusiast.substack.comCopy linkFacebookEmailNoteOtherGlinka Cries at Nightruslán i lyudmíla!!jelloMar 28, 20234Share this postGlinka Cries at Nightnotebookenthusiast.substack.comCopy linkFacebookEmailNoteOtherShareYou have not heard about the girl whose memories live on the canvas.She lives the same day over and over; she is hiding from tomorrow.It is the day when it is bright enough so that she can paint.It is the night when it is too dark for painting. She sleeps.Today, she had drawn a mango flower. She does not know the taste of a mango.Today, she draws a boy who scowls like a cat. She does not know it is herself.Today, she will draw a night studded with lanterns. She wishes for a lantern.Today is all she has, and all she wants, and all she needs.Sometimes, she looks away and sees the work of today.A delphinium she’s never smelled is at the tip of her brush.The mango flower she’s never eaten is at the tip of her vision. She realizes there has been more than one today, She realizes there is more than one today,She realizes there will be more than one today.She opens her mouth to breathe in and nowA scream she’s never heard is blaring in her ear.She runs until she sees the night studded with lanterns.The lantern perches in her hand and flies off with her fingers.She runs until she meets the boy and his scowl.The scowl slides from his face and onto hers. Her smile walks away.She runs until she is served a mango flower.The mango is green. She bites down and severs her tongue. There is no blood. There never has been. There never will be.Pain, too, isn’t/hasneverbeen/neverwillbe a visitor to Alouette’s life.Sitting down at her easel, she notices she can no longer hold a brush.She paints with her teeth. For fine details, she plucks feathers from her wings.She paints the lantern burning down the moors in its divine rage. There is no night.She paints the boy who smiles like the Cheshire Cat. There is no scowl.She paints the mango flower. It was never to be eaten.And since she does not speak, And since she does not run,And since she does not see you,You have not heard about the girl whose memories live on the canvas.