“The Flying Magritte Men”

In the poem-painting dream last night

fifty Rene Magritte men

with white shirts, black pants and ties

with hats and coats and no faces

were standing in straight lines in rows.

Like a flock of Flamingos

they were holding their right feet up

standing on the left alone

on glassy globes floating.

They went on a Pointe

on their leather shoes

drawing a complete circle

on the rotating globes.

They then stretched their arms wide open and up

beating them as the many wings on a gaggle of geese

then flew away like a plump of swans.

I heard their wings beating

and I saw tiny white feathers falling from the sky.

Somebody said:

 “Men are birds”.

and I thought I was getting close to fifty.

The feathers turned into a heavy snow

falling on the globes floating on the river.

I felt the flow slowing down

and the water turning into ice.

Somebody whispered

with a frozen voice:

“This is winter.”

Azin Izadifar

August 6, 2013