MOTHER’S LETTER

(translated by Brigitte Orešnik)

Your letters are as good and simple

as our house and home.

I know their every stoke,

and can tell in advance

the message of the first line

and the wishes of the last.

Sometimes I don’t even read the letter.

I put it behind the lamp on the stand,

there it will shine until I fall asleep.

In the morning it’s with me when I walk to my office –

amidst the cars and the grey walls,

through the loudspeaker slogans

I hear its voice call out:

“My dearest daughter. The grapes are ripening,

why don’t you come and pick them?”

I smile a little

and continue my harvest

of minutes and closely written pages,

as if they were grapes,

sweet-smelling grapes.