Yesterday you fell asleep, we
still had all the knives in our mouths,
three unused.
One stood
geometrically balanced
on the contours of the lips.
I don’t know who owned
those lips out of which
the still blade prevented
harsh words from coming
and, later on, the nightmares.
Another knife, the one I held in my hand,
I dropped before reaching
that floating rib
next to the heart.
In the morning there was only us, cold,
and the memory of ashes in the street.
The third knife was as if it had never been.
Margarida Ferra (born 1977) Portugal
Translated by Ana Hudson
Source: Lyrikline
still had all the knives in our mouths,
three unused.
One stood
geometrically balanced
on the contours of the lips.
I don’t know who owned
those lips out of which
the still blade prevented
harsh words from coming
and, later on, the nightmares.
Another knife, the one I held in my hand,
I dropped before reaching
that floating rib
next to the heart.
In the morning there was only us, cold,
and the memory of ashes in the street.
The third knife was as if it had never been.
Margarida Ferra (born 1977) Portugal
Translated by Ana Hudson
Source: Lyrikline
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please keep your comments relevant and free from abusive language. Thank you. Note that comments are moderated so it may be a day or two before your comment is posted - irrelevant or abusive comments will not be published.