FOLDED MEMORIES

 

A collaborative collection of poetry and image between the artist, Eva Redamonti, and poet, Anastasios Karnazes. 

Anastasios is a writer and poet based in New York City. For inquiries he can be reached at anastasios.karnazes@gmail.com

 

 

 

 

Aluminum_Coffin_Final.jpg

Aluminum Coffin

Not dead, fleets of ghosts

Pass all the time. Here

Is one now. What you

 

Used to call stars. What

I know now to be

Souls. And if I had

 

Remembered to pack

My fishing pole, I

Would have waited for

 

Yours to float along—

Bait the hook with your

Favorite food. Cast

 

The Egg and Cheese on

Everything outside

The ship. Of course I

 

Forgot to bring the

Pole. And I forget

Most other things too

 
 
Two Images.jpg

 

 

 

 

 

Two Images

If windows are in truth for looking beyond, Or

Rather if they are for casting light on the floor

 

At night the ships wait Your faint hair glows

Out past the waves Framed by streetlight

Heavy//still Spectral//quiet

 
 
Wrong_Type_of Birthday_Final.jpg

                   This Birthday Party

 

Where we eat

 

Lots of cake sprinkle

 

Cakes while we suppose

 

Our grandparents

 

Died and caked first

 

Then parents caked and

 

Died but frosting too

 

Cakes but we keep

 

Eating cake until we

 

Too die happy

 
Clink_Final.jpg

 

Clink

 

At times I think

 

Of slipping a quarter

 

Into the slot of a payphone

 

Like throwing a coin

 

Into a grave just to hear

 

The clink it makes

 

I imagine the clink

 

In the payphone sounds

 

Like the clink in the grave

 

Both echoing useless

 

Empty death sounds

 

Will the Heavens Soon Open up for You?

I am eleven, and I open the wooden door into the abandoned house. The floor is grey and dusty and it’s too bad cause I’d love to lay down but I look around and find some shattered light bulbs homeless people or old spirits probably did stuff with. Downstairs there are scattered photographs on an even dustier floor and they are kind of scary so I go back upstairs. To my surprise the light bulbs are still here and still shattered. I go outside now and it’s dark but the rough sidewalk and wet grass are definitely also still the same.

Will the Heavens Soon Open up for You_Final.jpg

At some point I stopped getting surprised that things remain still like this

Like my feeling at every moment that you have already vanished.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
Khrysos_Final.jpg

Khrysos

A flossy caterpillar

Embarks on the journey

To the//tomb where//

Webs of//moss hang

 

Cleanse me, oh Lord

Of this soul. The embalming

Of the body

I struggle to renounce

 

The old count their

Teeth with the

Tips

Of

Their

 

Tongues/I too

 

Would

Crawl

 

“Damned”

 

Perishing is most//painful for

Those//That wish for death

 

 

Some Kind of Abstinence

Gone light of East Boston

Did it sail away with the boat

Into a dark blue abyss—

  

Shrimp and krill call it “Sun” and

Yearn looking out the bedroom

 

Window I’m still waiting for your

Rice Krispy treats to finish baking

Perhaps the light is having a

 

Smoke out on the porch. I get up from

My balmy nap and walk past the hot oven,

Past that brown evil couch, to you

 

Our breaths join sometimes, though

I wish they hadn’t. “There is the boat!”

 

You cry. It’s rusted hull like a rotting pet

Goldfish. I turn to you and your hair is so thin

Some Kind of Abstinence_Final.jpg
 
Falling Asleep On the Train_final.jpg

 

Falling Asleep On the Train

The big green rain

Drops against the concrete

I think it’s obvious I think

The rain will win the fight

If there is a winner

I think the rain will win

The fight splashes

Grey waves against

The window droning

Me to sleep but

I am not supposed to

Fall asleep yet not

But I to sleep yet

I swear I think

Sleep is so rebellious

 
 

 

Meaning to Thank You for Dinner

Of course I am grateful

You turned off the TV

I stopped paying attention

To whatever was playing

And anyways screens feel

Like they stare back when

They aren’t being watched

I wouldn't’ have liked feeling

Watched with your desires

Dripping past my throat

Down my chest and drying on

My hips I wouldn’t have liked

Feeling watched when you

Took my mouth for yourself

Nobody would have liked that

This mouth was meant to sing

With the radio and to gossip while

You made pineapple chicken

And to drink orange soda this

Mouth wasn’t meant to be yours

I think this mouth was meant to

Eat the pineapple chicken and

I wish it could thank you for it

Meaning_to_Thank_you_for_Dinner_Final.jpg
 
In_Your_Arms_Final.jpg

In Your Arms

Might I awake in your garden

And find myself fruitless--

Picked

 

“In God’s Arms”

 

I am something non-human

Perhaps even non-animal

 

I step stone by stone

Through the walkway-- scouring the

                                                                   balloon

Jungle floor for mice and bugs     a

                                        Like

And He holds my tail

 

 

 

There At the Grocery Store

The cashiers wave and speak

Slowly and the damn knotted

Nest of shopping carts squeak

Like dying rats when they skate

The smooth tile. Sunbeam White

Slices with those blue eyes

That remind you of me, “I’m

Not the bread girl.” You

 

Laugh in the produce aisle

While I pick a bundle of tall green

Asparagus stalks and walk my

Way to the steaks//Honey

I know I know//I’m fixing Thursday’s

meal//And for twenty years I won’t be here

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