MARSALA

It was clear to me it was you

by the way you stroked every one of my toes

as if I’d never had them before

and you’d created them out of nothing

fingers are for work

toes are useless,

I thought and doubted

but you insisted

that one should just have some things

touch after touch

you created something new in me:

a tiny birthmark on my neck hidden by my hair

a large mole on my left breast

covered by the cut of my dress

you reshaped my eyebrows—

they are different beneath your kisses

than they are beneath warm tap water—

and on my back you spread uneven circles,

diving into it deeply

and trembling fish-like

and I stand in front of the mirror

my dress like marsala wine

my glance befuddled

and I see

a birthmark under my dress

a birthmark on my neck

soft fuzz on my back

your lips still creating a world

and I’m a little fearful of Saturday’s arrival

Translated by Svetlana Lavochkina