Poem
Ellen Deckwitz
LITTLE FISH
I dreamt of a little fish. A boy or a girl,either was fine with me. As long as it was breathing.
It would grow a beautiful tail.
All I had in my lower body was a fairytale
about how they kept on screaming at me
until finally I’d be able to walk.
One day the little fish would swim away, quietly,
I wouldn’t notice like with the others
who weren’t as whole. My nephews and nieces
play with their water pistols, but my offspring
can survive drainage. On the kitchen table lies the atlas,
already etched an atlantis blue.
© Translation: 2021,
VISJE
VISJE
Ik droomde van een visje. Een jongetje of een meisje,dat maakte me niet uit. Zolang het maar ademde.
Het zou een prachtig staartje krijgen.
In mijn eigen onderlijf zat slechts een sprookje
van hoe ze maar tegen me aan bleven schreeuwen
tot ik eindelijk kon lopen.
Op een dag zou het visje stilletjes wegzwemmen,
ik zou het niet merken zoals bij de anderen
die minder intact waren. Mijn neefjes en nichtjes
spelen met hun waterpistolen, maar mijn nazaat
kan tegen afwatering. Op de keukentafel ligt de atlas,
alvast atlantisblauw gekrast.
© 2015, Ellen Deckwitz
From: De blanke gave
Publisher: Atlas Contact,
From: De blanke gave
Publisher: Atlas Contact,
Poems
Poems of Ellen Deckwitz
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LITTLE FISH
I dreamt of a little fish. A boy or a girl,either was fine with me. As long as it was breathing.
It would grow a beautiful tail.
All I had in my lower body was a fairytale
about how they kept on screaming at me
until finally I’d be able to walk.
One day the little fish would swim away, quietly,
I wouldn’t notice like with the others
who weren’t as whole. My nephews and nieces
play with their water pistols, but my offspring
can survive drainage. On the kitchen table lies the atlas,
already etched an atlantis blue.
© 2021, Ellen Deckwitz
From: De blanke gave
From: De blanke gave
LITTLE FISH
I dreamt of a little fish. A boy or a girl,either was fine with me. As long as it was breathing.
It would grow a beautiful tail.
All I had in my lower body was a fairytale
about how they kept on screaming at me
until finally I’d be able to walk.
One day the little fish would swim away, quietly,
I wouldn’t notice like with the others
who weren’t as whole. My nephews and nieces
play with their water pistols, but my offspring
can survive drainage. On the kitchen table lies the atlas,
already etched an atlantis blue.
© 2021,
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