Читать книгу Continued - Piotr Sommer - Страница 24

I forget about the other world.

I wake up with my mouth closed,

I wash the fruit with my mouth closed,

smiling, I bring the fruit into the room.

I don’t know why I remember cod-liver oil,

whole years of misery, the cellar bolt on the floor,

the self-sufficient voice of the grandmother.

Still, this is not the other world.

And again I sit at the table with my mouth closed

and you bring me delicious bursting plums

and I repeat after someone I also forget:

there is no other world.