I translate your life
with feng shui, receipes,

I glue back your vocal cords
I tune the voice you had,
the tongue
written in your body

washed away by bleach, wind, the water of
dishes

i can read it still
in those x-rays you carry around
as your portfolio for gallerists,

and in the dust at the bottom of drawers
and in that one left inside gloves

during all these years of acid rain,
that have cleaned your bones like silverware.

Translation: 2006, Elisa Biagini