Valdoltra by Tomaz Salamun
People die with their eyes apart.
Death scratches the throats of the onlookers,
but never of the dying one.
I think about cushions. People standing around
annoy me. I think that there isn’t any
greenery. How will I cope with it?
I used to walk to work where there were
green bushes. When I was young
I rode that way, but never in winter.
Nothing green was there. People
standing around annoy me. Nobody
understands me. Will you write? Will you
talk to me? How will I cope without
the greenery I’ve been used to all my life.
(Translated from the Slovenian by Joshua Beckman and the author)
from Artful Dodge 48/49