The Poem About That
what kind of plants reside among the leaves of certain books
and how did they come to the great day at the Fair
at the crossroads of civilizations:
in cars, wagons, airplanes,
on tails, through veins, on wings,
through leaves, bark,
and a silk moth.
Yes, the Fair was big,
there was a speaker on the platform
(a folding stool placed to the side)
and it had ladies with long gown dresses,
and noblemen kissing the ground
and kids entertained by clapper toys
and nurses's breasts.
There were all sort of brownies, ginger bread
some incense sticks,
and cloth footballs rolling over to one's feet
right next to the sellers', buyers', fire-eaters' feet,
next to the feet, the facial tic
blinking from too much light
for it was a warm and shiny day,
Because the brightness and dry air
everyone imbibed too much orange juice
and waited for that book
with the leaves to which the plants have crawled over.
Will they be there
when once again I look out
well, that I don't know.
© translated by Boris Gregorić