Peaches

Things finally need to be given their names, precisely like

a peach. All my kin were seamen, opposite them stood harbours like

grey kidneys of the city. Much sooner, seals died as the road

spread, dry rocks gave birth to new shores.

Torn shirts there tell the tale of the end of the world.

 

It needs to have a name. Usually in December, when the salt breaks through all

layers of asphalt, when the year thickens into a dense knot of idle

days, something soundless and sharp grows and towers over us.

 

Those are not peaches. Neighbours bring in felled trees down the staircase,

they bleed needles, but underneath them comes warmth, then wood flooring,

grey gardens of slabs of reinforced concrete. Everything has stopped growing.

 

End of December is a chair for year's weary hips and down there, at the end of the world, my seamen have children. I have a brother with a head as the round word avocado. If I come close enough to him, I will show him the map of the city in which I am waiting for you. He does not believe things he cannot embrace, for instance, an elephant or ski resorts.

 

We are all in the streets during earthquakes. December is earthquake season.

Each glass is a deep drillhole from which only fingers peep out and inside

nothing grows either.

 

The barrenness of seamen starts falling upon us, occasionally as the colour blue in coats of armour. People's heads are hairy chimneys emitting white pollution. The streets are full of people, pollution, peaches are still rolling, their orange milk is flowing through soundless pipes of the city. They have nice hands.

 

When I find you, I will show you the garden. My brother is inside there. He has a sharp plough in his hand and uses it to steer between mousetraps, sluggish and harmless like an empty battleship.

Yesterday the rivers were spilling over. The close season tells us when fish spawn, it is the time of silence because baits are in basements.

 

My seamen never picked peaches, although there are precise instructions

how to do so. First one must put aside green leaves, find the softest

skin, one must slurp the liquid and the warm flesh, embrace her, tell her that

the night is a limp tangent of her hairpin, come even closer

cut it in half

love it

then

Translated from Croatian by Antonia Jurić

Rajčice

Treba stvarima napokon dati njihova imena, precizno poput

rajčice. Svi moji bili su pomorci, nasuprot njih stajale su luke kao

sivi bubrezi grada. Puno prije, tuljani su pogibali kako se širila

cesta, suho kamenje porađalo je nove obale.

Tamo poderane košulje pričaju o kraju svijeta.


 

To mora imati ime. Obično u prosincu, kad sol probije sve

slojeve asfalta, kad se godina zgusne u gusti čvor neradnih

dana, nešto bešumno i oštro raste i nadvisuje nas.


 

To nisu rajčice. Susjedi unose posječena stabla niz stubište,

ona krvare iglice, ali ispod njih dolazi toplina, zatim parketi,

sivi vrtovi od armiranobetonskih ploča. Sve je prestalo rasti.


 

Kraj prosinca je stolica za umorne kukove godine i dolje, na kraju

svijeta,

moji pomorci imaju djecu. Ja imam brata s glavom kao okrugla riječ

avokado.

Ako mu se dovoljno približim pokazat ću mu mapu grada u kojem te

čekam.


 

On ne vjeruje stvarima koje ne može zagrliti, na primjer slonu ili

skijalištima.

Svi smo na ulicama samo dok traju potresi. Prosinac je sezona

potresa.

Svaka čaša je duboka bušotina iz koje proviruju jedino prsti i unutra

ništa ne raste.


 

Po nama počinje padati pustoš pomoraca, povremeno kao plava boja

u grbovima.

Glave ljudi su dlakavi dimnjaci koji ispuštaju bijelo zagađenje. Pune

su ulice ljudi,

zagađenja, rajčice se još uvijek kotrljaju, njihovo crveno mlijeko teče

bešumnim

cijevima grada. Imaju lijepe ruke.


 

Kada te pronađem pokazat ću ti vrt. Unutra je moj brat. Ima u ruci

oštar plug i

njime kormilari između mišolovki, trom i bezopasan poput prazne

oklopnjače.

Jučer su se rijeke prelijevale. Lovostaj nam govori kada se ribe

mrijeste, to je vrijeme tišine jer mamci su u podrumima.


 

Moji pomorci nikada nisu brali rajčice, iako postoje točna uputstva

kako se to radi. Prvo treba pomaknuti zeleno lišće, pronaći najmekšu

koru, treba srknuti tekućinu i toplo meso, zagrliti je, reći joj kako je

noć šepava tangenta njezine ukosnice, još više se približiti

izrezati je na polovice

voljeti

zatim

sve preorati.