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.

Teodora Georgescu

Merryn Williams

Verisoara mea

A venit aici – nu pt a se odihni – ca sa mature scarile si
sa goleasca oalele din camera. Scaunele aurite
inca mai sunt aici, oglinzile uriase imi reflecta mutra
asa cum i-o reflectau si ei, cu mult timp in urma.
De-alungul acestor coridoare de plus se misca, picioarele ei
nu se auzeau cu zgomot – stargand praful, rasand totul ordonat.
Undeva in camera ei pitica, urcand ceva
pe aceste trepte. Invizibila sub sapca ei
invitatilor din Bournem, dar eu stiu cine era ;
carne din carnea mea, sange din sangele meu, aruncata prea repede din cuib.
O femeie miniona cand era in viata,
toate rudele pierdute, fara pereche la 45 de ani.
Nicio urma, niciuna. Grand Hotel inca mai exista,
dar acum ea se odihneste. Undeva inca in Boumemouth.