Jan Oskar Hansen
The Sage.
Train explosion in India, many dead and
wounded, black smoke, chaos and people
milling about; it was there on the news,
yet India, far from here, it looked unreal.
in the crowd I saw my brother, had been
dreaming of him all night, he didn’t look
like me, small white teeth glued to red
gums, in no special order; delicate hands.
A learned man who lives on the flesh of
calves, and drink goat milk for breakfast.
He looked straight at the camera willing
me to recognize his existence, I looked
down, put two teaspoon full of sugar in
my coffee and when I looked up he had
disappeared into the noisy crowd, and it
was time for the weekend’s football results.
