Wake up around 3 am
on a night without a number
Nose blocked
ears blocked
waves of breath
neither calm nor rough
Feel like I’ve been on a plane
that landed where it took off

Hungry I think
but don’t feel like eating
These dried figs taste of plastic
the sweets like chlorine
the last piece of Maha’s basbousa
I’ll save for when I deserve it

Inbox overflowing
Good news aplenty
but can’t deal with all these people
When and how the fuck 
did poetry
become so stressful

Can’t hear the music
How are we supposed to chill now
my dear Ott
Cotton buds made it worse
The echo of my whispering
much too strident
and the plane coming in to land
closer to the bone
than usual

M’hemmx x’tagħmel
Not much we can do
Head too hammered to read
about the history of the piano
Just try to remain still
listen for the silence
somewhere beyond this white noise

When the ears clear
we’ll play the recordings from Qrendi
Early morning village sounds
Għasafar tal-bejt
sparrows living in the walls 
of nanna’s old house
The horn of a distant bread van
Baby Eva playfully babbling
Iz-zija out in the yard
teasing Griżu
mjawing for his breakfast

Għandi dar għalik iż-Żurrieq
I have a house for you
in the next village
said the police dog trainer
turned estate agent
Ħeqq fuq li ħeqq
Who knows
maybe once they’ve found a vaccine
the house will still be for sale

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