SOLITUDE
By Antonia Pozzi
I have aching arms weakened
by an insipid desire to seize
something alive, that feels
smaller than me. I’d like to seize
my burden in one bound and carry it,
running, when it’s evening;
fling myself in the dark to defend it,
as the sea throws itself on the rocks;
to fight for him, as long as there remained in me
a shiver of life; then to fall
in the dead of the night on the road
with moonlight and of birch; to curl myself
on that life that I hug to my chest—
and send it to sleep—and I sleep too, at last …
No: I’m alone. Alone I curl up
above my thin body. I don’t notice
that instead of a numb forehead
I am kissing like a madwoman
the tight skin of my knee.
