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.

Steliana Palade

Merryn Williams

Verisoara mea

A venit aici, nu ca sa se odihneasca, ci sa mature scarile
si sa goleasca tucalele. Scaunele aurite
sunt inca aici, oglinzile uriase imi reflecta
chipul, asa cum l-au reflectat si pe-al ei, cu secole in urma.
A tot strabatut, cu pasi infundati, aceste coridoare asternute
cu covoare, stergand praful, lasand luna in urma ei.
Camaruta ei minuscula undeva la cucurigu.
Ascunsa sub boneta, era invizibila
pentru oaspetii statiunii Boumemouth, dar eu stiam cine e:
o ruda apropiata, alungata din cuib de timpuriu.
O mana de femeie, mica si zbarcita, pe cand traia,
cu fratii si surorile rapusi de moarte, singura la patruzeci si cinci de ani.
Nimic care sa aminteasca de ea. Grand Hotel se gaseste tot acolo,
dar ea se odihneste. Inca in Boumemouth, pe undeva.