COME NIGHTFALL
That evening stream of people with their lingering voices/ the diminishing light withdrawing from the streets
I don’t want to grow old like the woman at the next table
whose lines are so deep as the pattern on her partner’s pullover
I don’t want to grow old like the woman at the second table
whose hair resembles a wig more than a wig could ever resemble hair
I don’t want my face to be lost in the shop-window of spectacles
and most of all I don’t want my own body
to clamp me tight like a narrow ship’s cabin
all those radiant people and wrecks, I among them
exposing my body to the sun
and my life to random interpretations.
(trans. Alexandra Büchler)
Katerina is 31. Younger than I.
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