When I cannot stand

to muster strength against misfortune

when I cannot sleep

and face an entire tank of dirty laundry

when I

mistake my children

for dinosaurs

but take the favorable disposition of luminaries in the sky

for a simple act of courtesy

when at a quarter to

eight I have to go

and at a quarter to nine I have to go

and at a quarter to eleven I

have to go

and the radio

is saying all manner of bad things

when the telephone finally tunes out

because it can’t take this anymore

and a piece of butter brought to mind

does not spread on an imaginary piece of bread

and what’s more I stumble in the dark of night on

the bicycle in the hall

the sleepy and slightly irritated striking of a match is heard

and smoke reaches under the door

This is you

starting to talk on and on to me about another woman

Another woman in your place

Another woman in your position

Another woman at our level of civilization would pay no attention to these regular monthly whims would not pay attention would not pay

 

My forehead tenses up with the effort to imagine the seductive adaptability of another woman to our level of civilization and when finally I succeed I smile the trustingly disdainful smile of the Cheshire cat or of Julio Cortázar gladly giving up my place at the stove to the other woman and in sleep and in all of my horizontal-vertical-trigonometrical knee-eared cold-nosed spiral-eyed positions and while she masters them paying me no attention whatsoever I steal up to the front door feeling for my shoes and thinking only about how not to get snagged by the bicycle in the hall

The doorbell rings
I open the door
Another woman with a plaintive voice jumping out of her dress asks me to call the police her husband got drunk and she hit him with a skillet full of cutlets you wouldn’t have any valerian would you thank you what is this disgusting stuff I’ve never taken anything like it good God some people have proper lives, quiet and calm and happy

Coming back into the room for a handkerchief
I notice that another woman resiliently-weightily has collapsed onto something brown-red and dirty-blue She has a splendid golden almost masculine torso cut off by a frame and blind eyes smeared over in black It seems in my position she is pretty satisfied although Modigliani does not like being looked at

Blue twilight is soaked
and its contours are lost in the little river and for hours and minutes the suffering cello squeak of the doors winds around the digital lock in the entryway

Growing dark         Starting to drizzle        Growing light        Stretching out Peering through        It started to freeze

 Translated by Stephanie Sandler