Popravilo I
Obrtnik zapre kovček z orodjem.
Ko ob odhodu reče,
da smrt vstopa
tudi skozi zaklenjena vrata,
zdrsnem z roko
skozi luknjo v svojem drobovju,
proti očetu,
k telesu
njegovega očeta.
V taborišču je tehtal
štirideset kil.
Stranišče, jedilnica,
hodnik in spalnica
so bili v enem samem prostoru.
Ker ni bilo vrat,
smrt ni vstopala,
ves čas je bila tam.
Zato je njegova koža
postala prosojna
kot plastična vrečka,
natrpana z vsebino,
ki z robovi
sili ven kot rebra.
Repair I
The repairman shuts his toolbox.
On his way out, he affirms
that death enters even
through locked doors.
I slip my hand
through the opening in my entrails,
toward the father,
toward the body
of his father.
In the concentration camp,
he weighed forty kilos.
The bathroom, the dining room,
the hallway and the bedroom
were all one room.
Since there was no door,
death would not enter,
it just stayed there.
This is why his skin
became translucent,
resembling a plastic bag
filled with items
that protrude
like ribs.
(Translated from the Slovenian by Martha Kosir)
