At some performance
On tiptoe, head lowered, drawn into my shoulders, I come to offer you my
Young men on the stage, clutching their crotches, slowly moving tanned thighs.
Aisles crowded between rows, dogs chase herds up to the balconies, not looking
at me, but also not sending me away.
I can't make out who is the big chief here, to whom I can say, just for a moment
allow me up there, under the lights, to show what blankets I know how to crochet,
what baskets I know how to weave.
I start to squeeze through to where the sweet music is playing, but tear the largest
bag and everything scatters to the floor. While I save what can be saved
I see some pig is gnawing at a small basket, cows are trampling the white
blankets, all around trumpets trill, toot and blare.
I feel tears coming on and get ready to ask, who is the big chief here and who is it
who will pay for the damage, when someone on stage throws a bottle and hits
me straight in the face.
Black circles form in front of my eyes, I fall ass backwards between rows. From the corner
of my eye I still see, how a young man mid-stage lifts his arms in a sign of victory.
. . .you had an even higher temperature, so you would forever lie in
our old bed helpless as a blind puppy. Shove a thermometer in your mouth
Without evil, sneaky friends, odd and distant parents,
important work I'll be your mother, father, brother, wife and
husband. Through chicken pox, pneumonia, psychosis, neurosis,
mumps or measles.
Talk to me. Tickle me. Tell me your thoughts.
I didn't talk back, I just looked and kept silent, sighed, sat down at
my desk. Moreover I didn't say much to others, only to some
I said what I myself thought
No one really asked me, everything was done on the quiet and afterward nothing
could be changed.
Only later I heard someone had said everything would be different in the future
all would be explained beforehand, some would even be shown how, and
we were not to discuss it among ourselves and, God forbid, say anything
outside. So I told the others, but someone was stupid enough to go and
ask if that was really what was about to happen.
Now everyone is very angry at us, we'll have hell to pay. I'm somewhat
saddened by it, but I didn't say so out loud. I just sat in our
room at my desk, when she entered and glanced round, and
on leaving said There's no one here.
It's no longer snowing, but the rain has come. You walk through your large house,
close the windows and turn off the lights an Art Nouveau paradise of calm, where
no sharp smell or noise can enter.
But rain a sudden, sharp downpour breaks in on you through the secure roof
and several stories. A damp breath touches you, a whisper, too, of paper
mounds in the corners of the room.
Surprised and naked you fall to your knees, so the rain can whip your cheeks and
leave hot streaks on your chest.
But someone in heaven again is frightened and draws the zipper shut. You stay put
in stifling dryness, in a small country, where people on holidays crawl
into parquet cracks to vanish God knows where, where your name is mispronounced and
no one knows how to write properly.
You fall asleep alone in the big bed at twilight, having drawn over the window white
curtains. Outside buds swell, in-line skates clack and at the sale
your warm winter jacket costs just half of half-price.
Translated by Margita Gailitis