The Women

By SERHIY ZHADAN

Translated by OSTAP KIN
—Tell me about your new girlfriend, about the one
you’re living with now. What’s between you two?
—The air is between us. I just live with her
the way small children live with their fear.

Here’s what’s between us: her bizarre routes,
apples and wine, all her Protestantism,
clothes she carries in her bag like a parachute,
and the color of her hair,
which she changes
the way you’d change citizenship.
She’s always disappearing; she has her own pair of keys.
She comes back and falls asleep in silence, solid and stiff.
I listen, bewildered, as sometimes at night
her heart stops like a tram at the last station.
She stops stubbornly plodding time,
porcelain chimes tinkling as she walks.
Then she cuts her red hair,
like mowing grass to look after the lawn.
Somehow she rolls it all up like a scroll
and then I can really see this life
that flows like mascara from under her eyelashes,
and death retreats like a defeated army.
She pulls the sharp splinters of sorrow from my palm.
She touches my body as if gathering a plentiful harvest.
This is exactly why I love her,
as only a woman can love another woman.

 

[Purchase Issue 12 here.]

Serhiy Zhadan, Ukrainian poet, fiction writer, essayist, and translator, was born in the Luhansk region in 1974. He has published over a dozen books of poetry and prose. His latest books in English translations include novels Depeche Mode (Glagoslav, 2013) and Voroshilovgrad (Deep Vellum Press, 2016). He is the recipient of the Hubert Burda Prize for Young Poets (Austria, 2006), the Jan Michalski Prize for Literature (Switzerland, 2014), and the Angelus Central European Literature Award (Poland, 2015). Zhadan lives in Kharkiv.

Ostap Kin has published work in The Common, St. Petersburg Review, Springhouse, Trafika Europe, and Ohio Edit. He is currently working on an anthology of Ukrainian poetry about New York (forthcoming from Academic Studies Press). He lives in Brooklyn, New York.

The Women

Related Posts

Leila Chatti

My Sentimental Afternoon

LEILA CHATTI
Around me, the stubborn trees. Here / I was sad and not sad, I looked up / at a caravan of clouds. Will you ever / speak to me again, beyond / my nightly resurrections? My desire / displaces, is displaced. / The sun unrolls black shadows / which halve me. I stand.

picture of dog laying on the ground, taken by bfishadow in flickr

Call and Response

TREY MOODY
My grandmother likes to tell me dogs / understand everything you say, they just can’t / say anything back. We’re eating spaghetti / while I visit from far away. My grandmother / just turned ninety-four and tells me dogs / understand everything you say. / They just can’t say anything back.