Swedish- Finnish poet Edith Södergran stated that she does not write poems, she creates herself; and her poems are the way to herself. I hope that my month here in Finland will be just that. A time to create myself. Already these cold and damp mornings made me visit dark corners of my mind, that has been long abandoned. Looking ahead into the branched cloaked darkness of the forest, I wonder what I will find.
Notes from Finland
when all the golden birds
fly home across the blue deep water;
On shore I sit rapt in its scattering glitter;
departure rustles through the trees.
This farewell is vast and separation draws close,
but reunion, that also is certain.
My head on my arm I fall asleep easily.
On my eyes a mother’s breath,
from her mouth to my heart:
sleep, child, and dream now the sun is gone.—