Home again years later: but
no one has come to welcome you. You leave
the buzzing airport hall alone – on your feet pendulums,
in your empty hands two suitcases
full of desert sand and the sounds of the sea.
At your house door
you realize: the locks are new. You ring
your sister, but the number’s changed. Only
the neighbours intimate
that your nearest will be coming next year
– they have forgotten, though you wrote
in the self-same beautiful hand.
You gaze through the window into your room:
your things, whatever
ought to be waiting for you, they sold off
to the bazaar
and suddenly a neighbour’s child comes out
to offer you a glass
of vinegar.
English Translation: John Minahane