Zbornik Mednarodnega literarnega srečanja Vilenica 2004 - Ljudmila

Txema Martínez Inglés
Even when I didn’t miss her anymore,
I could hear the emptiness
she left behind at our house
when she quit the ashen city
in search of another home
or another kind of happiness.
Silently, father worked out his puzzles,
and mother sang, as she tidied the house,
the opening of the same song.
I didn’t know it then, but I had buried,
as they buried Chopin’s heart in Warsaw,
a child’s heart in a piano
that day in June
when my sister departed
and left us there, all alone.
Translated by Sam Abrams
281