Terrycloth Poem by Nico Bleutge

you were ungrateful, said the voice
said not a sound and slowly pressed closer
fast to the body, the skin gone numb and cold,
the fist unloosed, the false teeth loosened,
the stench a rain-eaten wall, the foot also
outstretched, described an arc in the air.
what I was thinking of then I don't know, but I saw
the streaks on the window, the thinning light
couldn't catch where the eyes meet, and the knees,
and the zipper's steel teeth. when the fat hits the fire
I'm serene, almost purified, arms and hands
stiff at my sides. no trembling helps then, no wailing,
no iron rod clutched to the chest. sandblasters
undid my backbone, made the joints crack
from the outset, nothing more could be felt then
as if a trapped bird were tumbling,
staggering, fluttering down. just this groping,
clutching the cloth, lying still, with the stench
of sweat, hairs clung to me, I fell deep asleep,
woke to a dripping that sunk into the skull.
no more sound then, no moisture, the hands held
still. air came in from the window, mild, almost reliable.

English versions by Suzanne Buffam