Translated by Plamena Vulcheva

3

When I was little I wanted to be many things

and for all of them I had to stand on top of a chair.

That’s probably why I never grew tall,

although I still love looking up

at the skies so blue,

the trees so green,

your eyes so dark,

and at a pigeon on the slate pillar.

I will climb you and then pull you up.

Hold my purse for a bit.

4

Amongst the general stagnation,

and the liquor-sodden poets of my generation,

you can take what I’ve got to give at this moment,

roll it up onto a reel

and raise the kite

of this, let’s say, love

within this sinister storm of flying remains.

I have nothing to teach you.

I just want to listen to what you hear.

Eternal sunshine of my spotless mind

in the most beautiful minor.

21

When you live with a cat, you learn

to leave the doors slightly afar

so it can go everywhere.

I melt the nostalgia into bullets

which I will fire later.

Probably at myself.

Or maybe at someone innocent

who looks like you.

Who smells of you

and forgets like you.

I’m waiting for him.