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.

Alina Petrescu

Merryn Williams

Vara mea

N-a venit aici pentru odihna, ci pentru a matura scari,
si pentru a goli olite de noapte. Scaunele aurite
sunt inca aici, oglinzile enorme imi reflecta
chipul cum i-l reflectau candva pe-al ei, eoni in urmă.
Pe-aceste coridoare luxoase trecea ea, cu mers usor,
stergand de praf si facand totul luna.
Pe sus pe undeva era si camera-i micuta, mult
deasupra scarilor. Cu boneta-n cap era nevazuta
pentru clientii de la Bournemouth, dar eu stiu cine era:
carne din carnea mea, zvarlita timpuriu din cuib.
Era o femeie marunta si zgarcita cand era-n viata;
isi pierduse toti fratii, era nemaritata la 45 de ani.
N-a ramas nimic, nici urma. Grand Hotel exista inca,
dar ea se odihneste acum. Tot undeva in Bournemouth.