Magnetised room Poem by Marion Poschmann

you have counted the metallic
age-rings on the fruit conserves,
every top-side rotating stasis
like flickering ventilators -

this place seems more secret now, since
you've been here, as though calm had finally
settled in, tempest (all rooms
submerged into light, everything
overheated out of fear):

I watch you, your second
attempt to open a tin,
placating, awkward, or
as though you were waiting for the
mood to change, as though you had
gently shifted your deliberate movements

we look like each other when from time to time
one yawn sets off another -
then once more the intactness
of closed-off bodies, a sheet-metal playground here,
full of things not done

Translated by Catherine Hales