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.

Iulia Anchidin

Merryn Williams

Verisoara mea

A venit aici-nu sa se odihneasca-sa mature
scarile si sa goleasca oalele de noapte. Scaunele aurite
sunt inca aici, oglinzile enorme imi
reflecta imaginea cum i-au reflectat-o si ei, cu mult timp in urma.
Ea mergea la parterul acestor coridoare moderne,
picioarele ei nefacand ecou-stergand praful, lasand toate
lucrurile curate. Undeva era camera ei
minuscula, cu mult departe de aceste scari.
Invizibila sub boneta ei
oaspetilor de la Bournemouth, dar eu stiu cine
era; carne din carnea mea, sange din sangele meu, aruncata de timpuriu
din sanul familiei.
O mica femeie zgarcita pe cand era in viata,
cu toti fratii ei pierduti, fara pereche la patruzeci si cinci de ani.
Nici o ramasita, nimeni. Inca sta la Grand Hotel
dar acum se odihneste. Undeva in
Bournemouth inca.