translated by Lena Kallergi

1.
I sewed the last button
in my white garment
red - by mistake.
My mother’s finger
grew on it,
almost white,
a laden cloud.
I lick it every time, too see
which way the wind blows
in case I can escape.

2.
Her wedding ring
a golden grief
grabs me by the throat
every nightfall.
I lick it
and it keeps narrowing
until.

I am a finger
sewn on you
almost yellow,
a burnt-out sun.
See which way the wind blows,
in case you can be saved.

     Minus Sixteen, Melani Publications, 2016