to hold a needle of silence in your mouth
By Iya Kiva
Translated from the Ukrainian by Amelia Glaser and Yuliya Ilchuk
to hold a needle of silence in your mouth
to stitch your words in white thread
to whimper while drowning in spit
to keep from screaming spitting blood
to hold the water of a language on your tongue
which leaks like a rusty bucket
to mend things that are still useful
to sew crosses on the really weak spots
like bandages on the wounded in a hospital
to learn to search for the roots of a life
that has yet to learn its name
--------
Monday was typical -- laundry, bathtub cleaning, and I scanned a bunch of old letters, some of which were a delight (notes from a semester in Israel during college from one of my oldest friends, letters from an academic friend who was nominated for an Academy Award for a documentary short) and some of which reminded me of how insane my family was. Paul needed to drop off a package at the UPS Store, so afterward we took a walk at Cabin John Park and saw a red-tailed hawk and lots of crocuses.
We decided to postpone The Gilded Age so we could watch Snowpiercer at 9 (no Pike nooooo though I am enjoying broken Wilford), then The Endgame (some ridiculous over-the-top writing and some not-so-great performances, but at least it's not pretentious women undercutting each other while their husbands kill themselves and others and it's somehow all the women's fault any time Julian Fellowes is in charge). I will have to watch real-world stuff tomorrow for the SOTU, so I only saw news when I had to.
No comments:
Post a Comment