Transitions №4

Author: Evgenia Rits

Translated by Mark Wingrave

 
* * *

Two children were born to Eternity
and when my sister died,
I alone survived,
outfoxed smoke, like sand for glass
in the uncared garden of October.
Two children were beside Eternity
at her side in fear and wonder;
and a smoking splinter of my body
fashioned her flesh to clothe me.
Two children were born to Eternity,
every day she plaited tresses,
burnt the dinner down to ashes,
and always carried a weighty bag.
Then after school one day we came upon a river,
and the air was scurried across the banks,
our heavy boat drifted far and distant,
and yet nobody summoned us there.
Two children drifted from Eternity,
the sister dipped a hand in the water,
at night anemone encircled the insides
from her age old thighs to elbows.
Sandcastles fade at the waters edge
and nearby a trowel lies by.
We shall never ever part again.
Footprints
disappear in the wake of absent legs.
Two children grew cold outside Eternity.
Who will light a fire for them?
They huddled tight together, and naked dark
draped itself around them.

20-10-20