POST SCRIPTUM English__ Feb 2021

Quarantine
let the window and snow be the background.
a poet stands against the barrel of the lens
without a pose usually ready for such occasions.
a suit button dangles on the last thread.
we wait for a ray of sunshine.
for contrast. for a glance,
which will lead us somewhere.
and then darkness appears.
the poet rests his head on it.
he closes his eyes. he is at home.
In a black and white photograph
you can breathe like before.
Rivers flow, we used to jump into them.
In the bend. It’s deeper there.
Under a mountain covered in spruces.
Where we were basking on the rocks,
where we were building dams,
where we were pulling out troutes with our hands,
where we were skipping stones,
where we were looking for glistening small fish,
where we were singing and waiting.
I miss you my river. I miss you bright day.
translated by Anna Maria Mickiewicz
translated by Kaja Herman
“LATER”
I am looking for a suitcase on the internet for “LATER”.
Red one as courage that allows you to hit the road.
I will start in the restaurant Honorata with father Tomasz.
We will order a duck with beetroot and baked apple.
I had my wedding there. It’s June. The shortest night of the year.
A crowd of guests. Pheromones or perfume.
Buzzing in the head. Lots of flowers.
We leave some of them at the monument
of the “Little Insurrectionist”.
Helmet too big for a boy’s head. I will not give my child to war.
I take a bath with freesias, roses, sunflowers.
They are in the bedroom. On the balcony. On my dress.
Our life smelled like a florist for a long time.
Right “LATER” we will be ready.
I will have a red suitcase.
And the priest a wreath of flowers on the head.
translated by Kaja Herman
let a dream be the background
I have a hat with a thousand butterflies.
they are swarming overhead.
they flutter with velvet wings.
I smile at the reflection
in the exhibition windows.
people are passing by
crossing to the other side
because butterflies are black
like death.
translated by Anna Maria Mickiewicz
POST SCRIPTUM
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