... those moments when my lip-stick’s applied, hair’s brushed and scrunched and three scarves of different colours are hung from my neck and the big bright orange bag that crosses my chest lands on my hip...
I pause in the doorway,
stop leaving
and ask: what was I needing to buy, beside tomatoes?
The mind is blue, open.
The only cloud, ephemeral: the tang of a vine...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem