Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume II, Second Edition


Very often, during the afternoon when everyone has left

the house, mothers let their aprons on the back of a chair

and open the closet of the dead child

as if to uncover their secret patience

as if to open the back door of silence that leads

          to a sorrowful garden.

They unhang small dresses from the hangers

light-blue, rosy, orange colour, made

of the thoughtful hours of twilight. They dust them

and caress them absentmindedly and suddenly

they smile, their girls must have grown tall by now and

they should buy them new dresses. The brush

is left on the floor like a small craft that

travels in a small seashore with its lights turned off.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s