MAGGIE SAWKINS

Armour


After you there is home
and a room that promises warmth
but there is no warmth –
there is a carriage clock
with hands that have halted
at just past midnight
and a fire whose artificial logs
know just what they are.

There is a bed in a room
that promises peace
but there is no peace –
there is a bulb that shines
sixty watts too strong
and a drawing by Matisse
of a woman sleeping
shielding her breasts with her arms.

Then there is sleep
and a moon that hangs
in the middle of nowhere
cradling a calm that cuts at dawn
swift as a knife
slicing through skin
that thought it had grown
plate-thick as an armadillo.

Laura Maria Berteanu

Maggie Sawkins
 

Armura

Dupa tine, e casa
si o camera ce promite caldura
insa caldura nu e –
este un ceas in forma de caleasca
cu limbi ce s-au oprit
chir dupa miezul noptii
si un foc ai carui busteni artificiali
stiu exact ce sunt.

Intr-o camera, e un pat
care promite pace
insa pacea nu e –
este un bec ce straluceste
cu saizeci de wati prea tare
si un tablou de Matisse
cu o femeie dormind,
care-si ascunde sanii cu bratele.

Apoi e somn
si-o luna ce atarna
in mijlocu-a nimic
leganand o scoica ce taie in zori
iute ca un cutit
spintecand pielea
ce credea ca devenise
groasa ca platosa unui tatu.