In the Absence of Water - Luljeta Lleshanaku

It’s Sunday. On the soles of shoes

walking in the hallway

snow turns to plasma, and the memories of roads disappear.

A 150 watt lamp in the middle of the room

looks like a piece of yellow cheese caught in a trap of boredom.

My mother knits, quietly counting stitches—

she always knows how many are needed, even when swapping rows.

She is stuck to her seat like putty in the corner of a window,

becoming more and more clearly defined over the years.

She is a pin cushion.

She knows the art of submission instinctively,

and tries to teach it to me

and my sister.

Three Matrioshka dolls are we, lined up according to our sizes.

I am the last one,

the one that doesn’t fit.

---

Luljeta Lleshanaku (born 1968) Albania

Translated by Shpresa Qatipi & Henry Israeli

Source: Per Contra, Issue 8, Fall 2007