This mirror no longer recognizes me
it laughs a laugh that’s not mine
Whenever my thirsty neck feels
the imperious necessity of a rope’s presence
another sunny day happens by
to put an end to the prospect
(each time deferred until some future day
with the smell of wet dog)
On days it drizzles softly
because I’m sadder
I sell myself more dearly
Slender and thinking like a reed
I write (for better or worse) a poem
beyond the age limit
This mirror laughs a laugh
that’s not mine
Floarea Ţuţuianu (20th century) Romania
Translated by Adam J. Sorkin and Irma Giannetti
Source: Diode
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