Prose and poetry by Leen Raats
And then everything suddenly seems to fall into place
like a puzzle that has been lying
on the table for many months, untouched.
How you find space here to breathe
among pollard willows who, like stubborn peasants
with their hands in their pockets, lean against the wind.
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My poem #Prague was published in Descant, a magazine edited by students from a university in Texas. It’s part of the 63rd edition of this paper magazine. Even more exciting: they nominated my poem for the 2024 Pushcart Prize.
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This morning I woke up in the dark.
With pain in my stomach and the voice of the radio newsreader.
Yet the day felt clean. Birds sang along the railway track.
At Brussels Central Station I saw a beggar with a bloodstained face
who no one seemed to see. I asked if I could help. I couldn’t.
Even though I know all about being invisible.
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On Saturday, March 29, I had the honor of leading two walk & write workshops at the annual Schrijfdag of Belgian organization Creatief Schrijven, a rich day full of workshops, readings, and encounters.
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Deep inland we soon
forget the infinity of the sea.
Today I follow rivers
ruthlessly heading for their end
as I carry sorrow like an old backpack
that shaped itself to the curve of my back
and a smile that is not mine.
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You are safe now I’m here.
Muscles grown, back straight, fists ready.
No one will harm you.
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After all these years you still don't know
how to live, just like every night you
seem to have forgotten how to fall asleep.
It feels indeed like falling
into the arms of the unknown
that you should have been
familiar with by now.
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I'll just have to learn to live with it
said the specialist who casually diagnosed an illness
which he didn't explain, which I had never heard of
but from which I had been suffering for years
and that maybe it was partly my own fault.
I shouldn’t have been so eager to live.
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Good news: an American website just published three of my poems. And not just any site, but ONE ART.
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Leen writes 