Merryn Williams

My Cousin

She came here-not to rest-to sweep the stairs and
empty chamber pots. The gilded chairs
still stand here, the enormous mirrors throw
my face back as they did hers, aeons ago.
Down these plush corridors she moved, her feet
not echoing - dusting, leaving all things neat.
Somewhere her midget room, a great way up
these stairs. Invisible beneath her cap
to Bournemouth's guests, but I now who she was; my flesh, my blood, thrown early from the nest.
A small skimped woman when she was alive,
all siblings lost, unmatched at forty-five.
No trace, not one. Still stands the Grand Hotel
but now she rests. Somewhere in Boumemouth still.

Cristina Florea

Merryn Williams

Verisoara mea

A venit aici - nu ca sa-si gaseasca odihna, ci sa mature treptele
si oalele de noapte. Scaunele poleite
mai pot fi gasite aici si acum, oglinzile enorme
imi reflecta chipul la fel ca pe al ei, cu miliarde de ani in urma.
S-a plimbat pe aceste coridoare somptuoase, pasii-i
fara sa rasune – stergand praful, lasand totul curat.
Undeva e camera-i micuta, sus in capatul acestor trepte.
Invizibila sub boneta ei pentru oaspetii de la Bournemouth, dar eu stiu cine era;
trupul meu, sangele meu, alungata prea devreme de acasa.
O femeie marunta si stearsa pe cand traia,
toti fratii pierduti, nemaritata la 45.
Nicio urma, nici macar una. Mai poposeste inca la Hotelul Grand,
Dar acum se odihneste. Tot undeva in Boumemouth.