Aksinia Mihailova
Photo: bslmmrs
When you leave
pieces of yourself
in the bodies of other women
and try desperately
to find yourself
complete
in the words,
I see our home
like a ghost boat
floating against the current
of the river;
but the boatman is [...]
Aksinia Mihailova
Photo: glitter feet
At night, against the curtains
so many moths are beating their wings,
their silver dust tracing rows of knots,
writing down my most enticing dream.
Aksinia Mihailova
Photo: jenny downing
In the morning, when I brush my hair looking in the mirror,
he is reading his newspaper,
Many days in a row I keep telling him
my incessantly recurring dreams
of the city of white walls and a dreadfully hollow frame,
of the city of Breton and immensely alluring lilies
of despair, of my thoughts
Aksinia Mihailova
Photo: dawnzy58
On Friday evening,
on my way home
where someone is waiting for me
my wings grow out
and I become a swallow.
Perhaps birds have their hidden
compass:
they know exactly
when to return,
where their nests are.
Aksinia Mihailova
Photo: jenny downing
He left his dreams
in the neon city
inhabited by gilded statues
with sick light in the eyes.
He closed his suitcase, locked the door
and went.
At the bottom of it
he has thoroughly folded
the melody he bought
from a street musician on the pier;
Aksinia Mihailova
Photo: jenny downing
neither is she approaching
nor is she going away
in the August haze
I am holding her with my eyes
above the poppy field
not daring to move
lest I make the wind blowing
by my dispensable thoughts
Aksinia Mihailova
Photo: NatureFreak07
My left hand
over a piece of paper;
if you erased
my thumb and my little finger
and replaced them with verse,
my hand mutilated and bony
[...]
Aksinia Mihailova
Photo: glitter feet
its white under the snow
its red under the umbrella
I am craving for;
your smile –
an olive
at the bottom of the glass,
on the edge of the morning
in my drying lips
I am craving for…
And he delves wells
into the words
away from my desires
squeezing a piece of the November sky
between his teeth
Translated from Bulgarian by Roumiana Tiholova
Aksinia Mihailova
Photo: twoblueday
In the most deserted area
of the beach
among the rows of
thatched umbrellas
with an open book in my lap
I run my eyes over the pages
“mother, in your womb
you had prepared my dead mask”
Aksinia Mihailova
Photo: ganmed64
I have been learning how to kite
like I have been learning how to be a mother
since yesterday, since ever,
thirteen years have passed.
I can’t do it – neither books,
nor people’s advice do help.
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