Trafika Europe 11 - Swiss Delights

Tamangur + 11 Poems

shows that other person her bottom, too, turning her head towards the mirror to see how the other woman looks from behind before pulling her nightgown over her head. Grandmother’s feet are very small. When she lies on the bed with her legs stretched out, her toes look like plump berries, but when Grandmother stands on the rug, the berries spread out and are flattened under her weight. That weight presses her into the flowers on the bedside rug. She sways through the bedroom one last time, opens the window a crack, returns to the mirror, takes her heavy breasts in her hands, pushes them up slightly and says to the woman in the mirror: I still have a lovely chest. In the streetlamp’s wan light, the corset with its glittering hooks resembles an insect. . . . 8 When the mountain’s shadow slices the house in two, Grandmother dislikes the village and thinks of Grandfather. As the days grow dark, it gets tight in the village, she says. At such times, memory lounges here and there like a sleeping animal and blocks the way.

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