a friend of a friend
has been a widow for 20 years
this she reveals when
she hitched in our car
my wife's face is twisted
and she does not speak a lot
we cut the story short
she gives the direction where she will be dropped
like some garbage
i pity her. i really pity her.
at the red gate she waits
no one opens the door
it is 10 o'clock in the evening
the car backs out
finding itself passing again by the same red gate
she sits on the pavement and holds her bag as though it is her only possession
i don't really know if that is her house
does she lie still at this age?
my wife lambastes me like thunder
unable to hold her contained temper
we cut the story shorter
we leave her on her own
whatever that means
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem