Silvia Choleva

what are we to do with the body

which we’ve unexpectedly discovered
dangling hanged from the bedroom ceiling
sticking its mauve tongue at us
how are we to close its eyes
to take it down from the rope
and complete the preparation
the undressing the washing the dressing
secretly from ourselves to feel glad
that we’ve gotten off free
while it hangs weighing
waiting for the right moment
there it is it stirs
cuts the rope by itself
shakes it off and utters
let’s let in some fresh air
and opens the window
and we’ll have to keep tolerating it
with the erosion
with all these scars
from wind water sun cold

sometimes that’s how i think about death
sometimes that’s how i think about love

the house

it had been raining
the grass has grown
as we pass through
we leave a trail of bending stems

electricity has been cut off
the window is cracked in one corner
and that smell of abandonment

we feel our way in
beaming glowing in the dark
we’re fearful
we forget fear

but it’s all a dream
long since this house has been torn down
long since we’ve been left alone outside

which is that city

where women
sit along the sidewalk
clutching their heads in their hands
like schoolgirls
clutching medicine balls
in PE class
a city where
sadness soaks in
and never goes away
even on saturday evenings
it lingers in the scarce lamplight
in the silhouettes behind the glass
on the buildings’ facades, on the streets
in the unreasonably joyous crowds
among street dogs and children
in their smell and clamor
in cars trams buses
some are kissing
it starts to drizzle
a firecracker goes off
so many redundant details
to survive the evening

such towns exist

where war fades away slowly
the bullet holes still remain in Sarajevo
in the museum of the third twentieth-century genocide
there are no visitors
people drink sweet coffee at the market
listening to wistful Sevdalinka songs
and just like me leave the house
with a phone in their pocket
instead of a gun
life’s errands are different from death’s

SILVIA CHOLEVA is a poet, journalist, and publisher. She is the author of numerous poetry and prose collections, as well as essays, including The Child of the Deaf-Mute (1993), Entrance (1996), Journeys There and Back (1997), Green and Gold (2010), Goshko (2013) and from the sky to the earth (2015). She is also the recipient of several national awards for her contributions to the field of literature.

About the Translator:

MARINA STEFANOVA translates fiction and poetry between English and Bulgarian, as well as from Japanese. Her translations have appeared in Asymptote and Words Without Borders.