Laertes Books

MY TRAIN

Translated from the Albanian by Ani Gjika

I have waited at train stations, alone,
at times jostling through, among strangers, to find a seat.
Then the alarm whistle pierced the heavens
shuffling countless scenes before my eyes.
The rhythm of train wheels would follow me till I’d get off.
I’ve waited for my train with my belly round — up to my mouth.
My face beaten by the cold rain of impatience: When would my baby rest?
When the platform was blocked by freight trains,
my train was late. Heavy on my feet, I’d sigh
wanting to go back to the street, my home already vanished.
On hands and feet, I’d crawl, my belly to my mouth, under freight trains,
anxious of the smallest move until my foot touched the asphalt.
My train was full of smiling children riding to school.
A slice of corn bread sprinkled with sugar and water in their gelid hands.
Under their armpits, textbooks wrapped in bags of cloth,
and, as if chewed up by mice, torn corners
spit out pencils and erasers — breadcrumbs to guide them back.
My train heavy with long years of labor
and the long daily ledger of accounts. Millions spent
on building bunkers ordered by the head of construction.
Orders on top of other orders, the last one from the stern commander
who’d come to work drunk every morning.
At train stations, alone, I’ve waited,
with my belly to my mouth, for my train.
The pristine landscape would fly past me
holding me spellbound, hypnotized.
My train — through the locomotive’s whistle that signaled an arrival,
the noise, and the rhythm of wheels on rails —
went on snatching my youth completely, seamlessly.

MEMORIES

Translated from the Albanian by Ani Gjika

Memories
pretend to sleep.
I don’t touch them,
I don’t stir them.
If they open their eyes,
they’ll remind me
I’m a slave.

Let them lie
in a daze.
How they quiver,
how they flirt
with consciousness,
taunt and hurt
one another,
till thrashing,
with gloves off,
they turn on themselves.