Translated by Karen Emmerich
The Weeds / Tα ζιζάνια
I shouldn’t have pulled up the weeds ─
there΄s not a stalk left.
Now, in the season of deprivation,
see what remains:
Our empty field
and me in the middle, a shipwrecked
and all around, scattered memories of crops.Translated by Karen Emmerich
The Perfect Outcast / Το απόλυτο απόβλητο
Our baby, feeling entirely undesired, took offense
and, shortly before the abortion, mysteriously miscarried.
An unambiguous suicide. What irony!
Our unique little creature,
now a unique little worm
amid hospital waste.
I’m not sad.
What about you, honey?
Come on, brush away those tears.
If I’d put it in my palm and held it out to you
you would have looked away, repulsed.
What did you think it was, anyhow?
Just another little death, not indignified, since there was
no funeral.Translated by Karen Emmerich