The Sun and Her Flowers. Белые стихи, от которых распускаются цветы

об этом не пели песен,
и я не смогла найти таких баллад
или прочитать книг, рассказывающих о горе,
которое мы испытываем, когда нас оставляют друзья.
о том типе сердечной боли,
что не обрушивается на нас, как цунами,
а приходит, как неспешный рак,
который не проявляется месяцами
и не имеет зримых признаков.
боль возникает то в теле,
то в голове,
но какая-то терпимая.
рак или цунами,
по сути, заканчиваются одинаково:
потерей друга или любимого,
которые уходят, уходят, уходят.

    – недооцененная сердечная боль
i hear a thousand kind words about me
and it makes no difference
yet i hear one insult
and all confidence shatters

    – focusing on the negative
я слышу тысячи добрых слов обо мне,
но они меня не трогают.
однако одного оскорбления достаточно,
чтобы потерять веру в себя.

    – сосредоточиться на негативе

home

it began as a typical thursday from what i recall
sunlight kissed my eyelids good morning
i remember it exactly
climbing out of bed
making coffee to the sound of children playing outside
putting music on
loading the dishwasher
i remember placing flowers in a vase
in the middle of the kitchen table
only when my apartment was spotless
did i step into the bathtub
wash yesterday out of my hair
i decorated myself
like the walls of my home were decorated
with frames bookshelves photos
i hung a necklace around my neck
hooked earrings in
applied lipstick like paint
swept my hair back – just your typical thursday

we ended up at a get-together with friends
at the end you asked if i needed a ride home and

i said yes cause our dads worked at the same company
and you’d been to my place for dinner many times

but i should have known
when you began to confuse

kind conversation with flirtation
when you told me to let my hair down
when instead of driving me home
toward the bright intersection
of lights and life – you took a left
to the road that led nowhere
i asked where we were going
you asked if i was afraid
my voice threw itself over the edge of my throat
landed at the bottom of my belly and hid for months
all the different parts in me
turned the lights off
shut the blinds
locked the doors
while i hid at the back of some
upstairs closet of my mind as
someone broke the windows – you
kicked the front door in – you
took everything
and then someone took me
– it was you.

who dove into me with a fork and a knife
eyes glinting with starvation
like you hadn’t eaten in weeks
i was a hundred and ten pounds of fresh meat
you skinned and gutted with your fingers
like you were scraping the inside of a cantaloupe clean
as i screamed for my mother
you nailed my wrists to the ground
turned my breasts into bruised fruit

this home is empty now
no gas
no electricity
no running water
the food is rotten
from head to foot i am layered in dust