Duck blood soup
From this spot you can see the snow-coated statue
of the school’s patron. When I was a student here,
I was marked down for not knowing the catechism.
I used to share Christmas wafers with people I hated.
From this spot you can see the statue. A thick snowy cross.
I’m airing the kitchen, I’m breathing out frost.
The days are like a stick wrestled from a dog’s jaws,
a fish yanked out of the river.
© translated by Antonia Lloyd-Jones