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.

Rodica (Tita) Ionas

Merryn Williams

Verisoara mea

A venit aici-nu sa se odihneasca-sa mature scarile
si sa goleasca oalele de noapte. Scaunele sculptate
sunt inca aici, oglinzile imense imi reflecta
fata, asa cum au reflectat-o pe a ei, acum o eternitate.
Mergea pe coridoarele acestea luxoase, pasii ei fara ecou-
stergea praful, lasa totul impecabil.
Camera ei micuta, mai sus, pe-aceste scari.
Invizibila pentru oaspetii familiei Bournemouth,
ascunsa sub boneta, dar eu stiu cine e ;
carnea mea, sangele meu, aruncata prea repede din cuib.
O femeie mica, scunda pe vremea cand traia;
copii-toti pierduti pana la patruzeci si cinci de ani.
Nici urma, chiar niciuna. E inca-n Grand Hotel
dar azi se odihneste. E inca in Boumemouth.