Parenthesis

By Valerie Mejer (trans. Forrest Gander)

Profile at The Poetry Foundation

 

Nothing’s in the nest. No needles. No newborn ravens.

Maybe something like night in the deep hollow,

an eggshell planet, cracked in the middle, an empty bowl of soup.

Nothing’s in the nest. No thread. No web of words.

Maybe something like my navel, the eclipse of a magnifying glass.

A slice, mute with regard to its empty depths

In the nest, nothing. The web unwoven. Dismembered.

In the space, something, yes. A piece of cloth. Sounding like flags

taking wing, a worm in its beak and suddenly, eyes my eyes

which cutting across the empty air, direct themselves at something noiseless over there.