A narrow carpet runner with black stripes
and bloodstains, doors without handles
standing open, plastic flowers, a shared
bathroom and toilet, the smell of fear.
Having been brought up in this anguish
I know how to bear it, lightly:
woman 1 enters, then woman 2:
daughters, mistresses, secretaries maybe.
You know the fairy tale I loved?
The one in which The Voice says: Kill Him!
She: No!
The Voice: Then kill yourself!
She: How?
Set him free.
Translated by Robert Welch