Softly swings the door upon its post,
And in the dusk, muttered curses from our host
Stumbling gracefully over her own feet.
She switches the light just once or twice:
Remembers too late, when she's punched it thrice,
That the lightbulb's been out for a week.
Pursing her lips just so they won't curl
And avoiding the shoes on the floor, my girl
Makes it to the fridge in the darkness.
Takes the food from out of the freezer,
Watching for spiders so they won't get near her,
She goes back inside of the house.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem