Читать книгу Throw Yourself into the Prairie - Francesca Chabrier - Страница 12
ОглавлениеThe white machine is packed with lights.
The machine is white
because it has let the snow collect.
There is a baby inside
the machine. There are stars,
and also a deep place you can go
to see Machu Picchu.
The machine
produces white paper. The paper
is smooth like the voice I am using
to talk to you. I write a letter
on the paper and slide it under your door.
Hello, please give me back
the umbrella you borrowed.
When rain falls on the machine,
it bubbles first and then produces a noise
that sounds like passing through
an aisle of shaking trees.
This is the sound of the machine crying.
The machine is white
and eats white bread. White milk.
The machine runs on white milk. It
collects snow. It holds the baby.
I smack the machine and the baby shakes.
Inside there are mummies wrapped in white paper.
A telephone rings.
Hello, I will not give you back your umbrella.
The snow turns to rain and makes white puddles.
The baby swims in the water,
and floats on the surface like a bottle.
The white machine is tired. I hold it
and kiss it with my clean white hands.
