You dying on the phone - Valérie Rouzeau

You dying on the phone my mum he will not last the night see dad.
The train a dark rush under rain not last not die my father please oh please give me the get there soon.
Not deadying oh not desperish father everlast get up run fast –
Hand watch the time we’ve got to Vierzon outside it’s tipping hail.
We miss each other I have no idea passing through Vierzon that in these train arrival times you’ve died.
Not die oh please but everlast until the nurses’ corridor of white.
Until your bed as fast the engine into Lyon la Part-Dieu.
Until your forehead over now and all together in the little room and not forget.

Tell me, daddy dear, dadarling, daddy poorling: do you remember my little horse?
How it went round the table on its little kitchen wheels its mane our black hair streaming in the wind.
How the tins of tea the saucepans danced so fine as how we went for it to dada laughing daddy rear until it all breaks up not say no getting away.

Talk to you dad I managed a bit of daddychat a chitter ’cause we didn’t have that much time.
Outside the world its birds as white as planes, the barrier of sound.
Your hands on the white sheet were growing yellow yellow.
Surely they have no right to fly so low no right no fly so low you said.
Even the whites of your eyes were even yellow so we two forgave each other everything.

Okay when people ask I tell them fine especially when there are people round me yes I’m coping fine.
You don’t see me in the grocer’s weeping over the potatoes.
Nor waiting at the PO window when a portant package has to be packed off.
I’m fine it goes I say without saying my head my head.
It makes no sense your dying inwardly poor song.
Some stamps I need and some potatoes please a book, a bag.
Thanks a bundle.

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Valérie Rouzeau (born 1967) France
Translated by Susan Wicks