Stage 3
Written by Alek Ridet, 2018
The lungs rotting
my grandfather was dying
the ambulance came and went
until one day
—when his well-oiled spectacle
was ready to be played—
it didn’t
9:37 a.m.
my mother and I
heard through the flickering voice of my grandma
that he was dead
and the whole car
the whole world shook
in the chill of silence.
On the third day
as the coffin rolled slowly
down into the furnace
an idea spread through my brain
What if he was not dead?
Yes
he was in South America
his heaven
-tobacco on the stalk
hot women-
going through the streets of Buenos Aires
fishing in the rios
growing tomatoes.
Still, I wondered
how did he save the money on a €700 pension?
Yes
he stuffed cash in his cigarette packs
until he was ready to leave.
So I wandered in the streets of Paris, London, New York, Tunis
looking for him
investigating potbellied men
with blue eyes
and an owl look
and while each of them disappointed me
the oblivious men I followed
left me
with a clearer definition of death
a clearer definition of him
of his misplaced anger with my grandmother
which was truly with himself
for he insanely loved her
and he loved me
so it became clear
my grandfather was dead and burnt
his ashes I once believed to be
newspaper and old receipts
were truly his flesh and bones
and I the last one to bear his name
had spread them in the sea
where the boat’s bells ring in concert with the church’s
to look at Sète where he grew up.
The tears came finally
at the realization of this loss
the loss of a man
for long I didn’t understand
a man
for long I could not love.
A man still alive
through tomatoes
through Buenos Aires—he had never seen
through me
A Man, Amen.
Copernicus spoke with flies
Written by Alek Ridet, 2019
I was thinking
“What is it like to be a fly?”
one came by and said
“Being me is not easy,
I’m short living and eating doo-doo-dee.
I can’t fly high
and they say I ain’t pretty
but I need no prize!
I do my work
in shitty heights.”
as she flew out of my sight
I understood that the world goes round
thanks to the flies
Untitled No. 2
Written by Alek Ridet, 2020
Sunny breeze
in the palm tree leaves
clouds coming with ease
My Heart
Written by Alek Ridet, 2026
My heart longs
for what it cannot speak of
it longs for the glistening golden waves
of Jackie O. at sunset
My heart aches
for one cannot be halved
without killing two
it aches for the impossibility of the past
the improbable future
My heart wants
one more day away from reality
it wants to be cajoled into the wrong thing
right thing
the thing that could make me or undo me
I wish
Written by Alek Ridet, 2019
I wish I was a giant
who could stride the world
to take you anywhere
to show you the night sky
on the crest of the Kenyan mountains
the sunrise on the harbors of Cuba
I wish I was a shell
for you to dwell in
tide high
tide low
I wish I was a fire
whose sparks light the dark
when you lose your way
Eternal flame
awaiting your return
Untitled No. 1
Written by Alek Ridet, 2019
I built a ladder
that went up to the sky
I learned lock picking
from an old toothless sage
and went through the gates of Heaven
to bring down flowers unknown to mankind
to you
who sleep, still, when I arrive.
Concerto For The West
Written by Alek Ridet, 2019
The calm of nothing
The Great Plains
The Barber of Seville, Overture
The birds fooling around
The cows munching blankly
The wild flowers springing into the image
The fences covered by high grass
Only the road in front of us
And the sun hiding behind a gray curtain
Polonaise nº3 in A major Op. 40, nº1
The old bird on an electric line
The little river curving round
The hay bales
The tree, branches bare
Praying to divine powers
The yellow flowers peopling the west
The hair
The hand
The freedom in the wind
Blue linen shirt
And brown leather boots
The dog playing with a child
The old lady smoking a cigarette next to the gas pump
We are nowhere
The somewhere to someone
Around us: silence
Nothing but the click of the camera
The smell of wet grass and wet tarmac
The fog swallows the rainbow
Suite nº3 in D Major, BMV 1068: II. Air on G string.
Dead trees
The feeling that infinity belongs to us
But nothing can catch infinity