Simple story

I entered so many churches
in vain, plaster statuettes laughed at me…
Left alone children cried,
the remains of God had to be peeled
from their muddy jackets,
the father bar hopped, visited whores,
the world drifted away like a wobbly rail car
without a conductor or engine driver;

later I met the same children in schools,
I taught them how to write
their names correctly, they stared at me
as if I were an engine driver, I would select
the best among them for football
with other poor children. When they threw mud
at each other on the field behind the slag heap,
I had tears in my eyes.

I know, it was supposed to be about God.

 

Ewa Chrusciel
Translated by

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