Zamrznjen prizor
S sestro sva prvič potovali z letalom.
V majhni kabini
je oče sedel med nama.
Z mano ostaja občutek strahu,
grozljivo tresenje,
trenutek, ko sem očeta zagrabila za dlan:
ni se ji uspelo izmuzniti.
Sedaj je posuta s starostnimi znamenji,
takrat pa najbrž še ni bila.
S težavo jo prikličem v spomin,
četudi je odklepala vrata stanovanja,
se dotikala kljuk in pohištva.
Ležala je na blazini,
ko je očeta bolela glava.
A to je zgolj bežen prizor.
Na letalu jo z neustavljivo silo
potegnem k sebi,
kot novorojenček v hlastanju za bradavico,
kot mlad tiger, ki v begu pred napadalcem,
poskuša dohiteti svoj trop.
Sestra tega ni storila.
Bela v obraz kot zasneženi vrhovi pod nami,
je bila videti oddaljena.
Večkrat sem jo vprašala,
kaj se je zgodilo takrat,
pravi, da ne ve.
Vidim jo, kako še vedno sedi tam.
Frozen Scene
My sister and I flew for the first time.
In the narrow cabin,
our father sat between us.
The fear still lingers,
that terrifying tremor,
the moment I clutched his hand:
he couldn’t pull away.
Now it’s freckled with age spots,
though back then it wasn’t.
I can hardly remember,
only that it once unlocked our apartment door,
and brushed across furniture and doorknobs.
It used to rest on a pillow
when a headache kept him down.
But that image soon fades.
On the plane, compelled by something unseen,
I pulled it toward me,
like a newborn rooting for the breast,
like a young tiger fleeing a threat
and struggling to rejoin his streak.
My sister didn’t do that.
Her face was white as the snowy peaks below,
she seemed worlds apart.
I’ve asked her many times
what happened then,
she only ever says she doesn't know.
And still, I see her, sitting there.
(Translated from the Slovenian by Martha Kosir)
