TE15 Lithuanian Honey Cake

Tautvyda Marcinkevičiūtė

I would like

to wash dishes in inns of Montmartre and bistros of São Paulo, to cut into ruby cubes the mountains of vegetables in SoHo cafes, staring with hungry eyes in the evenings into shining advertisements;

I would like not to appear at work for weeks and months, not to cry over low pay and holes in the walls of hostels;

I would like

to change jobs as easily as losing gloves, to stop lying for plant directors, military men, and prosecutors;

I would like—

but return to my poor country where, tossing away all lies and the long search for myself, seeing the white snow for the first time, waiting for me is my Lithuanian son.

Translated by Julie Kane, Manly Johnson, and the author


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