Poetry Daily has chosen a prose poem from The Little Book of Passage (Bitter Oleander Press) for its daily feature:
« But you bring clay. You add more clay from the beginning
of the world. You go to the broken, empty places. You are
beckoned by the warm places, a sweaty manual worker who
smiles when what he has built up collapses.
You smile, time begins all over again. A warm towel envelops
you up to your forehead, brings you back to the kitchen, into
the tub on the table. Your mother’s big hands wash your hair. »
— Franca Mancinelli, translated by John Taylor
(March 20, 2019)
Laisser un commentaire