There was a nearly suffocating smell: smell of old walls, it struck me like the melodies that resurrect in the heart the deepest memories. You know: on that sofa I wept so much when I knew you wouldn’t come back. And today, in the doorway, my soul of that time took hold of me; in an instant my entire past returned. . .
Translation Summer/Fall 2021 Issue 19
I sleep and everything sleeps. The bread dough sleeps in the bowl covered with a damp cloth. The jars are sleeping in the cupboard, each a womb of enameled glass. Quinces sleep, household suns, on embroidered bridal linens in the hope chest. Tomorrow you’ll be fine. Between dreams, I hear you. Tomorrow, you’ll run, as if this were nothing. It’s just that you’re growing. . .
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