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On Friday Evening

June 26, 2009 by · No comments

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
they know exactly
when to return,
where their nests are.
On the other days of the week,
as I turn my head
to comb my feathers,
instead of my wings
I see my idle bones,
I hurry up to cover them up
with one of my motley

so nobody would know
I’ve forgotten to fly.

Translated from Bulgarian by Roumiana Tiholova

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