Pietà by Gabriela Melinescu translated by Adam J. Sorkin and Inger Johansson
Once in a while, like an angel, I’ll throw myself in the mud
with the green plants from the ruined garden,
and like a devil I dote on my taste and smell,
feeling life overturned by impending passion.
Like the fragrant must of pressed grapes, the mud swarms with seeds
that stick to the skin of the immersed.
Like an angel, I feel them tickle my back
like sharp young diamonds in a lamb’s dark eyes.
You yourself, what else are you but a man with wings
on whom, too quickly, the mud cakes
and the plants painfully sprout shoots of fresh green!
In her arms, the Mother carries away
her poor precious burden.
© 2005-2008 Per Contra: The International Journal of the Arts, Literature and Ideas