poetry on video

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Friday, November 14, 2008

ROOMS by George Vasilievici

I enter this silence of a body out-loud.
The lights are off. The doors are locked.
Dwellers sleep, their dreams pulled o’er eyes so light doesn’t disturb them. It’s a good build.
I heard, as well, that they sell flats ‘round
Here.
That it’s a good ‘hood. Very close to the
Heart.
Just open the door and meet her face to face.
Love, that is.

When she was little, she rang the doorbells and ran. Until they called the cops. ‘Cause we work here, we don’t love.

She was tripping every time and falling down the stairs.
I would take her home in my body and
Bandage her.

I was singing to her, swinging her on my feet.
I was puting her to bed.
She enjoyed staying over through the night.
She was feeling safe.
I was covering her.

Come morning, she was minding her own.
She loved taking the lift at departure.
The lift in our new building only goes up, though
To heaven, and it’s busy most of the time.

It’s the main tourist attraction of the city.

When she grew up,my body grew too small for her.

And some part of hers were left outside me.

She sensed me better than I could sense her.
At every entry she would come to meet me.

I couldn’t get out of her anymore.

Then I became just a tiny summerdress.
Then a pair of underwear
Then a silk stocking
Then a daily pad.
Then just a head
band.
Then an internal tampon.
Then toilet paper.

After a while, I became a tatoo.
Until, only recently, I was allowed
To rest forever on her lips,becoming the shine in her smile.


Translated by Nic Ion Sarbu

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