Gazing at the still
white body
I half-expect
water colored eyes
to open
man-made teeth
to bare
in a grin
nine bony fingers
to tickle my ribs
or feet
I wait for
thin white lips
to speak
be still
good day
good-bye
good-bye
even make-up
subtle blue cushions
hopeful mums
deep irises
cannot hide
the cold
gray
chill
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Given the grave subject matter, the abbreviated line lengths add to the sense of bleakness. The final eight lines are impressively powerful.