In The Room, The Roots Of Things Have Decayed Poem by Maya Sarishvili

In the room, the roots of things have decayed,
and like a bud,
healthy, tender—
the big table sprouts a little table,

the big chair sprouts a little chair.

Two bookcases—
one dying, one new—
the pin-sized books and brittle baby glass.

But from the goliath grand piano's thick foot
springs a pinkie-sized piano.
How delightful!
I will water this room with a pure smile

and raise things in my own way,
like flowers.

—Translated from the Georgian by Timothy Kercher and Nene Giorgadze