Bordeaux

The house fills up with the young and Ex-Pat hip. They buy their clothes at thrift stores.  They can sleep anywhere. You haven’t had a shower. Your stuff is scattered all over.  They sometimes break down into individuals but then the individuals are interchangeable. For example, there’s Debby. There were two of her but when you look very closely, you think, yes, that’s Debby, and the other who looked like her becomes someone else, but still a little bit Debby. And Debby says only things that are big, about China, and Time. And you want something from her, so you say, yes, yes, China, Time.  And then you go on to ask the thing you want from her, something like, where’s the bathroom? Or, which bus will get me to the Gare St. Michel? Or, what’s happened to all my stuff? Because as usual, your fragments are strewn about the house—your T-shirts, Capris, sandals—the paraphernalia of your face—your sticks and tubes and bags and pouches and creams. But when she finally stops for breath and you get to ask your question, the thing you want from her, the reason you’ve listened to China and Time, Debby says, No, let’s sit with this first. And you must. Because her skin is flawless and she wears her scarf a certain way.  And because she’s talking about big things and you’re talking about lipstick, or the loo, or the train you have to catch to get where you’re going.

In Translation

Because he was sleepless

she learned that her teeth clicked,

a code he sought to decipher

when nothing else kept him company;

that she twitched as she dropped

from consciousness (sometimes

while he was still talking), a jolt

from her center that rolled

through the tips of her limbs

(the way that, making love,

no matter where he touched,

her whole body swirled  

like water); that she proceeded

to speak while dreaming, monosyllables

only, sharp and disconnected—

foot  can’t  fast  white—the new

language whirring through her

at the new country’s border.

She began to wake hungry

for each morsel

of his nightly scrutiny.

In daylight, he listened

through a sieve, arranging his own

chopped salad from her words.

And she, likewise, hmmmd and

nodded through much of his talking,

and tried to climb deep inside him

to put on his insomniac eyes,

lie next to her foreign self dreaming

and savor every strange word.