for ioan flora
store windows in which I can see you as a blur–
the animals make way for me to kiss the glass.
you're deaf as a log
I ask myself why you ever came here
to cry over the human race.
my armful of roses
smears red into the sky.
I worry my dress will snag
on a thorn.
shouldn't it have taken place in an oyster?
in a snail?
or in freight cars where
cattle wait without water?
you'd rather be eating chicken livers
and drink a cold beer,
to enjoy yourself
while elsewhere a woman gives birth.
someone promised me
to give you birth
as if from a glass barrel.
Translations of "surd ca o bute," "după pompei," "claustrofobie." Copyright 2006 Mariana Dan. Translations copyright 2008 by Mariana Dan and Adam J. Sorkin. All rights reserved.
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