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Maria Matios
an evil eye, or become
envious, or simply did a time
of suffering come to this
house, who knows. But joy
for Mykhailo and Matronka
broke the way the string on
Fitsyk’s fiddle once broke
right in the middle of playing
“The Hutsul Girl” at their
wedding, as though joy had
never spent the night here.
…And it was like this.
The long spring roared away
in winds and blossoms. The
hills and valleys were taken
by a sudden summer with
frequent, short downpours,
the untold splendor of the
grasses and berries, and
first and foremost – with
protracted expectation of
crops and litters of farm
animals.
Matronka
returned
to
her usual jobs – she
unrecognizably blossomed
after birthing, with an
unwanted full bosom and a
somewhat stifled, or, maybe,
peaceful luster of her eyes.
Likewise –as before the child
– she places a braid in a small
rough circle around her head,
she gets the child to fall asleep
with her breast, carries out
the sycamore maple cradle
onto the porch, takes up her
hoe, which is as small as she
is – and goes to the garden.
She rakes – strangely smiling
to herself, closing her eyes for
a moment, as though she’s
hiding something valuable
in a place known only to
her, then she suddenly looks
back if anyone has seen her
mysterious smile – and again
takes to her hoe.
And toward evening she
takes the child in her hands,
rocks her, quietly singing,
and moves closer to the gate.
She gazes for Mykhailo to