The roots of the objects in the room have rotted Poem by Maya Sarishvili

The roots of the objects in the room have rotted,
And like a bud,
Healthy, tender -
The big table threw off a little table,
And the big chair threw off a little chair.
There are two bookcases,
A dying one and a new one -
With pinpoint-sized books and with tender glass.
But from the thick foot if the Goliath grand piano
Grew out a piano the size of a little finger.
How good!
With just limpid smiles I shall water the rooms
And I shall raise things my own way,
Like flowers.

Translation: 2007, Donald Rayfield