bicycles and mulberries

by Kristina Kočan


bicycles and mulberries

when I don’t travel I cook and when I don’t
write I cook a lot as well
but then I also bake like
Sylvia Plath I think of
bicycles and mulberries
used to grow in front of the house
I grew up my father
always figured
I’d been scrumping from the dark red
smudges around my mouth and
my beaming smile there was
exactly one mulberry in front of the house
for every child from the neighbourhood
lucky those who chose white
no stains in life
I always choose things that mark
a red mulberry for a lover 
a cinnamon peeler who leaves yellow
stains on my skin that
can’t be washed off in my heart
a pierced pattern keeps spreading
the overripe ones fell
to the ground we smashed them with our bikes
they splattered in all their
juiciness while growing up
they cut them down as if 
forcing us to grow up sooner
I don’t know what our childhoods
would have been like without those mulberries
we can look from hearts into eyes

Translated by Jernej Županič

kolesa in murve

ko ne potujem kuham in ko ne 
pišem tudi veliko kuham 
takrat še pečem kot 
Sylvia Plath se spomnim 
na kolesa in murve 
so včasih rasle pred hišo 
sem odraščala jaz oče 
je vedno pogruntal 
rabutanje zaradi temno rdečih 
sledi okoli ust in 
širokega nasmeha pred hišo 
je bila ravno ena murva 
za vsakega otroka iz soseske 
srečni tisti ki so izbrali belo 
nobenih madežev v življenju 
vedno izbiram stvari ki markirajo 
rdečo murvo za ljubimca 
lupilca cimeta na moji koži 
pušča rumene madeže ki se jih 
ne da izprati v mojem srcu 
se vse bolj širi luknjasti vzorec 
prezrele so popadale 
na tla smo povozili s kolesi 
da so se v vsej svoji sočnosti 
razmazale med odraščanjem 
so jih posekali kot da bi nas 
želeli prisiliti da odrastemo prej 
ne vem kakšna bi bila 
naša otroštva brez tistih murv 
lahko gledamo iz src v oči