Published in / Opublikowane w: Modern Poetry in Translation
Date of publication / Data publikacji: Spring 2019
Holidays at Grandma’s
A tall willow tree
rocked in the wind.
You could touch its catkins
from the swing. Just needed to get it going hard enough.
Further down there was a walnut tree.
We built an entire world on it.
Grandma used to dry its fruits
in a cardboard suitcase in the attic. We scrumped them.
A sour cherry tree in the middle of the yard,
fruits the colour of dark blood.
They stained fingers, tongues and souls.
In the corner a root cellar
for storing potatoes.
Another one at the side of the house,
dankness smelling of apples
spread in single layers on the shelves.
A row of acacia trees led to the gate.
We climbed it
to gape at the world going by
from our watchtower.
All gone now.
Too true, the curse of the dark well
between the acacia trees and pigsty.
Translated by Maria Jastrzębska and Anna Blasiak
