My eyes are
always directed
somewhat through
whatever I’m trying to examine.
most probably
the basic reason for that
is that my boyfriend is a photographer.
we’ve known eighteen months now
I look good in photographs
occasionally,
in telephone conversations,
he refers to me as
“one of my models.”
I think
in each of us, in our eyes,
there is set up a tiny
photographic device,
from time to time
it makes a clicking sound;
be aware of this
I’ve started being wary of hidden cameras.
Wherever
I don’t feel at ease with myself:
not even in the bathroom.
Especially if there’s
good paper,
a good catch on the door,
a wire brush
and a big oval mirror.
I start to think about
how beautifully I’m sitting,
my back, so to speak, straightens up of its own accord.
I know
that it’s stupid
and I smile.
The left corner is 2–3 mm
higher than the right.
Somewhere, I’m 98% sure of this,
there are people
spilling their seed over my photos.
It seems to me
I know many of them personally.
Translated by Chris Jones