Only four thousand years after her friend,
she jumped down from the third floor balcony
in a department store. When her body
thudded on the floor of the perfume section
like a bunching bag, the sales assistants stopped
for a minute, like a news agency does when seeing
the war´s first aerial battle photo. And then
someone said, some sort of lunatic, and after the police,
the ambulance had arrived, she was covered up
like a rose bed in the autumn, and quickly taken
away. A few blood stains were cleaned up. (Some sort
of lunatic.) The washing water had the tinge of
Greek demi sec wine. One with a lingering,
supple and slightly oaken taste.
And then the hustle of buying and selling
forgot about her. She was lying in hospital morgue
for a day, or two. No one came to inquire
about her. She lay in her bag
with dignity, on her back, like great monarchs.
Everything she had desired from life
was still visible, reluctantly, on her face,
for a few more moments.

Translated by Sarka Hantula